


Whatever Gods May Be

by buttonstuck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Animal Abuse, Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Violence, Rescue Missions, Slow Burn, and physical violence, but also love happens and everything probably works out, for one skippable scene in one chapter, though that might change who's to say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonstuck/pseuds/buttonstuck
Summary: “Honestly you should just let me go,” Nishinoya said. “This’ll just happen again and it might as well be inside Seijoh.”Asahi’s eyes snapped up, suddenly fiery. “Not going to happen.”“Look, I’m dangerous alone,” Nishinoya said tiredly.“Great, well,” Asahi said, trying to sound confident, “good thing you aren’t alone.”________Azumane Asahi has no psychic powers. Nishinoya Yuu wishes he didn't.





	1. The Sendai Fireball

**Author's Note:**

> (Full disclosure: this is like 95% inspired by Mob Psycho 100.)

They started calling it the Sendai Fireball, though Asahi didn’t hear the name until months after it had happened and he already knew much more about its circumstances than he ever could have expected. It was a quiet morning, just before dawn. There was no prelude or warning, no change in the air, before the blast struck. The night was overcast and starless.

Then, like the sun rising in a single instant, the explosion was born out on the water. It grew over the bay and cast a harsh golden light on the city, the light almost as tangible as the heat it gave off and the tense, unbroken quiet. It was as though a bomb had dropped on the ocean, silent and awe-inspiring in the way that made your stomach drop.

Asahi could see the water ripple, a circle of light radiating outward from the epicenter of the blast at an unimaginable speed. He knew the shockwave was coming but could do nothing about it. The roar came first, like the air splitting in half. Windows rattled and broke, doors by the shoreline cracked, and Asahi, who was running across the rocky beach, was thrown about a meter inland, landing hard on his shoulder. He cursed and raised a hand to cover his eyes, head taking a moment to figure out which way was up. He gave the fireball not more than a second of attention before he looked back to the beach behind him for the dark jeep and its armed occupants.

The jeep hadn’t tipped over like he’d hoped, but it was turned sharply and the doors were closed. Asahi scrambled to his feet. His knee protested, but he didn’t have time to figure out the damage. In a second he was sprinting again, feet landing more surely on the uneven ground with the assistance of the light from the bay.

His luck was short and he heard the jeep’s doors slam closed. He could hide from a vehicle but he couldn’t run from bullets, so he needed to get to cover as fast as possible. The fireball had hit its peak and the light had begun to dissolve in patches, like burning paper. Despite himself Asahi found he was staring at the light, watching the blinding yellow crack into deep orange and then, at the center of the glow, seeing a tiny dark shape linger and begin to fall.

The goons had stopped, mesmerized. Asahi guessed he should count his blessings and book it out of there before his sudden window of opportunity passed. The tree line approached, and Asahi’s heart lifted if only a little.

Out on the bay the dark shape struck the water, and Asahi didn’t see the second shock coming. It moved just as quickly as the first, a wide, hard gust of wind that made a single tall wave in the dark sea. Just as Asahi hit the trees the wind hit the beach, pulling the branches like they were flowers and knocking Asahi into a trunk. It stung against his back and he faltered when the pressure lifted, falling to his hands and knees on the underbrush. He got to his feet and continued forward as the light faded, and by the time the first curious onlookers from the city had made it out of their houses the night was dark and Asahi was deep in the forest.

 

* * *

 

It was dangerous, but if Asahi was going to get out of Sendai in any discreet way he would need his bike, which was still parked outside the convenience store below the apartment he’d been staying in.

If they’d found him at the bar, then the apartment was probably a bust too. He hoped the old man hosting him hadn’t gotten hurt, but he also felt a low, shameful rush of relief. The mattress had been nice but his host had been making noises about compensation of the companionship sort and Asahi hadn’t been running long enough to trade his body for a night’s sleep.

The morning had come with the buzz of worry over the night before. The coast guard had made their way out to the blast location soon after it had happened, but besides silt stirred up from the shore the water was empty and, for all intents and purposes, looked as though nothing had happened. There was no radiation, no seismic activity, no bomb residue. The rumor began to spread that it had been a meteor, though there had been no reports from earlier in the night, when a light in the sky should have been visible.

That was what Asahi learned from the television at the laundromat, anyway, when he arrived back in town two days later. He’d gotten back the long way and arrived at about 10 o’clock in the morning, back a little worse for wear from the nights on the wood floor of a shed. The anonymity of daylight required an entirely different set of skills from that of the night, but Asahi was less used to being on the run than to being a normal person so he didn’t have trouble disappearing in the crowd.

Across the street and down about half a block was the convenience store and his bike. Asahi was playing it safe, anticipating some sort of surveillance, but as he made conversation with the old woman in the vest watching the machines he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of panic. He was so, so close to freedom, at least for a while, and he couldn’t afford to take more than a couple of seconds taking and leaving with his bike. He had the route mapped in his mind, hoping to lose any tail they set on him early.

“I’ve got to run,” he said apologetically to the woman, who looked up at him as he stood. The lower half of her face was covered in a white mask, but her eyes sparkled.

“Get some sleep,” she said. “You look like a ghoul." 

“I’ll do my best,” Asahi replied with a smile and a tiny bow, heart pounding as he neared the door. He had to focus. The key was in his hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and his backpack was strapped in the front so he could run.

With a deep breath he pushed open the laundromat door. It jingled lightly and he waited until he was out of view of the window before he pulled his hand from his pocket and broke into a run, making a beeline for the convenience store across the street.

A car honked as he darted out in front of it and he offered a conciliatory dip of the head in lieu of an apology. It was only as he made it to the other side of the street, kitty corner to the laundromat, that he saw the black van. It sat parked on the same side of the street as the laundromat, just out of view of the windows. Had they known he was there?

“Shit,” he hissed, and he locked eyes with the person in the passenger side the moment he looked over. There was a flash of recognition, eyes widening, and then the door was opening. Asahi was already sprinting, weaving around an alarmed group of pedestrians, but he gritted his teeth and tried to put on whatever speed he could.

His bike was just a few meters away, just half a second, but there was a gunshot before he could make it there. Someone screamed and he ducked behind a tiny electric car, falling to his hands and knees and then pressing his back to the door.

“Come out with your hands up and we won’t shoot,” a voice said, firm but tired-sounding. “Azumane.”

Good to know it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. That would be awkward. Asahi swallowed and let out a shaky breath. His fingers were trembling and he could see his bike, three or four meters away, so close. He didn’t trust them to dawdle if he were to give himself up, so he probably wouldn’t have enough time to get to his bike, get it running, and be off before they got a couple of bullets in him.

The street had become deathly quiet. Asahi looked at the keys in his hand and tried to calm himself down. He heard another car door close and bit his lip. The longer he waited the worse it would be.

“Azumane,” the voice came again. “You have ten seconds. Hands up.”

Asahi had to make a decision fast. He might be able to take one of the goons in a fight, just because of his size, but if they both had weapons and they both came at him he’d be dead before he threw the first punch.

Slowly, he put his hands above his head and stood, turning to face the two men as he did. His heart lurched as he saw the barrel of the gun, a perfect circle of black pointing directly at his chest. The man with the gun was not particularly tall, and he was in plain clothes. Looks could be deceiving, though, and Asahi wasn’t going to tempt fate.

“Don’t move,” the man barked, and Asahi could see his partner come up behind him, pistol in hand and pointed at the ground.

The first man stepped carefully around the car, gun trained on the middle of Asahi’s chest. That would hurt. He only had one chance and a whole host of action movies to reference.

There was no time like the present, so Asahi waited until the man was within arm’s length, telling him to lean against the car with his hands behind his back, before he moved.

He grabbed at the barrel of the gun, moving his body out of its aim and slamming his other hand into the man’s wrist. The man yelped in surprise, the gun not completely leaving his hand but his grip loosening enough for Asahi to grab the weapon himself. It was over in a split second and then he planted a boot in the middle of the man’s chest, kicking as he dropped behind the car again. A gunshot cracked above his head and he fumbled with the gun, pointing it at the man he’d kicked and then, before the adrenaline ran out on him, dashing out from behind the smart car.

He blindly pointed in the direction of the other goon as he made it to his bike, swinging a leg over and tapping up the kickstand with his heel. He missed the ignition a couple of times with his shaky hand, his eyes locked on the second man, a tall, heavy-set thug with a shaved head. As his bike roared to life he pushed off and white-knuckled the clutch.

The first man had gotten to his feet and begun to run toward him, but he wasn’t going to make it in time and Asahi could see in the second man’s eyes that he wasn’t really going to shoot. He’d never held a real gun before, but he’d never been on the run before either and everything could be a learning experience.

Then he was off, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips and stomach threatening to flip over, but he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Asahi’s bike wasn’t exactly quiet, but he figured he could trade speed for stealth and worry about hiding once he was out of the cramped, claustrophobic city. He roared down the route he had planned, avoiding a school zone and keeping to smaller, less populated streets. The hairs that didn’t quite make it into his ponytail were plastered back against his head in the wind, cold on his face.

He didn’t see the black van in the mirror, or down any side streets, and he began to feel confident that either they hadn’t gone after him or he’d lost them. Nobody seemed to be out of their homes, even though it was around the time most should be leaving for work. Asahi didn’t dwell. The fewer people who saw him the better.

The street wound more than he remembered and he slowed, leaning into every turn with the weary feeling that something unpleasant could meet him around a blind corner. The houses were small here, suburban.

There was a sudden sound from up ahead, a sort of crash, and Asahi had almost no time to react as the figure of a young man stumbled into the street, right in his path. 

Asahi swore and hit the brakes, banking hard to the left and skidding to what was good enough to pass for a stop. He leaped off his bike as it fell, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling. He struggled to catch his breath, staring up at the person in the street, eyes wide.

“What the hell?” he started, but his voice caught in his throat. The kid was covered in blood, which ran in a stream from his nose and a cut somewhere above a puffy eye. He looked dead on his feet, messy black hair matted to the side of his head and his streak of bleached bangs dyed red with blood. He didn’t even seem to have noticed Asahi, staring instead down the alley from which he’d come.

At first there was only silence, Asahi’s heartbeat in his ears, but then he saw another young man step out of the alley, looking for the most part unscathed and very unamused. His eyes were sharp and cold, and he was skinny but looked strong. He glanced at Asahi.

“Leave,” he said. Asahi opened his mouth to protest and the world shifted.

Asahi watched his vision narrow to a pinprick, and he realized his eyes were no longer focused. There was what seemed like an eternity of lingering silence before he felt his body move, his arms pushing him to his feet, pulling up his bike, swinging a leg over it, but he wasn’t doing anything. He uncocked the gun and stuck it into his belt. He wasn’t moving but he was moving, and he tried to get himself to stop but it was as though his arms and legs had been taken over by some unseen puppet master.

“What’s going on?” Asahi managed to choke out, eyes refusing to look anywhere but the clutch of his still-humming bike, watching his hand move toward it but unable to stop. “Who are you?" 

“Did you hear me?” the young man asked casually. “Go now or I’ll kill you.”

Asahi didn’t feel anything, not even fear. Go now go now go now go now—the thought bounced around his brain, moving his feet and his hands and the bike grumbled and—

“Get on,” he hissed at the second boy, almost inaudibly. The kid turned to him, eyes meeting his and for a moment uncomprehending. Asahi could feel his hand closing, however much he was trying to fight it, and in a second he’d be gone. “Get on,” he repeated, but his mouth barely forming the words.

The bike roared to life and he began moving but Asahi could see out of the corner of his eye the boy burst into motion, swinging around and grabbing the back of Asahi’s jacket. He couldn’t move his eyes away from the road but he felt a small, warm impact against his back and the pressure of a body.

“Are you fucking kidding—?”

“Go go go go go go!” the kid yelled in Asahi’s ear, voice high and excited, worlds away from the dead look he’d given the alleyway. The kid’s arms wound around Asahi’s waist as they began to pick up speed. “His range is only like a hundred meters so don’t fucking stop!”

Asahi heard the kid talking. He heard him speaking but something else was there, the world shift but stronger, angrier. A completely different, more powerful feeling crashed through his brain like an ocean wave. It blocked out every other thought, good or bad, and Asahi could feel himself sinking. In an instant he was overtaken, consciousness dropping down below his brain and falling into an abyss. It was almost comfortable, easy. He didn’t have to worry, or make decisions. There was nothing else he could do, or think, or say, or—

_Crash the bike._

His hands wobbled, and he felt the bike beneath him wobble as well. He saw the low brick wall hiding the door to a house on the street, maybe thirty meters along, and it was welcoming. _Crash the bike._ Right into the wall. Easy. He could do that.

But his consciousness wasn’t completely gone, and adrenaline won.

“Grab the handlebars,” he commanded through his teeth, from beneath the water.

“Oh, fuck me!” the kid replied.

Asahi felt hands over his own, smaller, barely reaching. The bike turned toward the wall, and Asahi could feel a yearning, a deep need to drive forward. Hit the wall hit the wall crash the bike.

But it was too easy and his hands were limp enough for the kid to manipulate them, turning the bike sharply away. No, Asahi thought, but right as he was about to correct they passed some sort of threshold and the fog that had blanketed Asahi’s mind vanished in an instant.

“Jesus Christ!” he cried as they flew forward, missing a tree by centimeters. He banked hard, pulling them back onto the road, correcting as they snaked across the street. It was only the speed they had gained which kept them upright, wobbling dangerously side to side before reaching a happy medium and rocketing down the street.

“Woo hoo!” the kid yelled, hands flying in the air. He lost his balance and his hands were back on Asahi’s waist in a second. “Shit.”

“What was that?” Asahi asked, voice tense.

“A sick rescue,” the kid replied. “I owe you one.”

“That’s not what I…” Asahi started.

“Are you one of Shimizu’s guys?” the kid asked. “How did you know where to find me?”

They turned, and the kid’s grip tightened on Asahi’s jacket.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Can you not talk? Is it not safe? This thing bugged?”

Asahi cleared his throat and shook his head—not as an answer, but as a dismissal. “I was just driving by.”

“Oh shit,” the kid said with a laugh. “Good Samaritan, huh? So where are we going? I’m getting a little woozy.”

“The hospital.”

There was no response for a long moment. The kid just breathed, heavy enough and close enough to his ear that Asahi could hear it over the bike.

“That’s okay, you can just drop me off here,” he finally said, voice high and quick.

“You’re bleeding like hell,” Asahi said.

“Yeah, well, you know, head wounds and all. I’m fine, you know. Some of it probably isn’t even mine. Thanks for the ride, it’s been great.” The kid laughed tensely.

“You might need stitches,” Asahi said firmly. “Hospital. I can call your parents if you want.”

Something in the air changed, a quiet but audible crackle. Asahi felt the hairs on his arm rise.

“Please just drop me off here, I’ll walk,” the kid said, voice strained. There was a snapping sound and Asahi winced.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Anywhere is good. Like a ditch or a tree. I’m not picky. Literally knock me out and bring me back to Oikawa if you want. No hospital though." 

Asahi glanced back, and he caught the young man’s eyes quickly. They were wide, and bright, almost unnaturally so. His whole face was bright, like he was reflecting too much light, even the blood on his lips and smeared across the side of his face. His grip on Asahi’s waist tingled, like electricity.

“What are you doing?” Asahi asked, urgency creeping into his voice.

“Trying not to pass out,” the kid said.

“Jesus.”

Asahi slowed, pulling over to the side of the street. There were a few people around, mostly up ahead, and he worried someone might see and think he’d beat the kid up himself. His hands were itching to move, to get out of the city, and the gnawing paranoia hadn’t left. They came to a stop and he knocked down the kickstand, just in time to turn and catch the kid, who slid limply off the seat. He nearly dropped the kid when a thick arc of electricity met his fingers.

“Fuck!”

“Literally shoot me in the head yourself if you want,” the kid mumbled. “No hospital.”

His face was still too bright, like he was glowing just under the skin, and turned around Asahi could see that it was his entire body that was bright. He didn’t look good, either, sweat beading on his forehead and mixing with the blood.

“Fine,” Asahi said, not going to ask any questions he didn’t want answers to. “No hospital.”

At once the glow disappeared, like a light being switched off. The kid sighed and slid to the ground, sitting half on his knees. He looked up at Asahi with far-off eyes. He really was about to pass out.

“Good deal. Name’s Nishinoya. I’m pretty fucked up right now.”

“No kidding,” Asahi said, looking up and down the street.

When he looked back down the kid was slumped forward. Asahi cursed under his breath and looked up to the sky, through the black crisscross of powerlines, upset but not surprised at himself and his sappy, bleeding heart.

 

* * *

 

Asahi hadn’t tried to make a campfire for years, but after a bit of fumbling through the encroaching dark and locating the half-dead lighter in his bag he managed to get a small pile burning. He didn’t know what kinds of animals lived so low on the mountain but he wasn’t keen on meeting any of them. It was alright if he kept watch. He hadn’t been expecting to get any sleep anyway.

The kid was still out and Asahi’d propped him up against his bike. The blood was worrying but the kid was breathing easily. He knew he was a pushover, and once the decision was made he didn’t worry about whether or not he’d regret it. The twinge of guilt at the thought of letting the kid lie there was enough to make him hoist his limp body up onto the back of the bike.

They were at most a hundred meters from the mountain path but there was no visibility and Asahi felt safe from the prying eyes of marauding bounty hunters. The military was efficient and effective, but probably not at finding a single man in the woods.

Two, now.

In the morning Asahi would see how the kid was doing and then drop him off just outside of town. He looked pathetic enough that someone would probably pick him up, and then he could have the glow-argument with someone else about whether or not to go to the hospital. Then Asahi could skip town and worry about getting out of the country.

It was around nine in the evening when Nishinoya started to stir. His eyes fluttered and he murmured something before he blinked to life. Asahi watched from the other side of the fire as the kid sat forward, eyes tracing lines on the ground before they rose. The blood in his hair had dried it upwards, like it’d been caught up in the wind, black crust instead of red.

“What’s going on?” he asked, and Asahi wondered if maybe he was older than he looked.

“’Evening,” Asahi replied. Nishinoya glanced at the bike behind him and then at the fire, taking a deep breath.

“Where are we?”

“Just outside of Sendai.” Asahi poked at the fire with a long stick. Sparks rose as a branch shifted.

“How did…” the boy started. He winced and his hand flew to his ankle. “Shit. Where are the others?”

Asahi didn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nishinoya froze, fingers pressed into the side of his leg. “Did they get out?” he asked slowly, eyes wide.

Asahi shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think we established that before.”

Nishinoya squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. “I have to find them.” He sounded a little breathless. “They were in…south block? Southeast block.”

Asahi’s mouth was a tight line but he didn’t say anything. Whatever was going on with the kid was not his business, and any thoughts otherwise would be dooming him to either a military tribunal or a shoot-on-sight order.

“Scooch in,” he said. “It’s chilly.”

Nishinoya looked Asahi square in the face with a strange intensity. “How did you find me?” he asked.

“You stepped in front of my bike,” Asahi said, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess I sort of remember,” Nishinoya said.

“Great. Well, we already had the hospital conversation, and you were pretty firm about not going to one. Just checking that’s still the case.”

“Blackout Noya’s probably a dick, sorry. But yeah, I’d prefer not.”

“I wonder if anyone got hurt in the blast,” Asahi mused to himself. “The hospital might be packed anyway.”

Nishinoya froze, eyes flicking to Asahi’s. They were sharp and wary. “The blast?”

“The explosion two days ago. Sort of hard to miss. Out on the water.” The look of horror on Nishinoya’s face made Asahi wince.

“That wasn’t me, was it?” Nishinoya asked, voice hollow.

“I don’t know,” Asahi said slowly, warily. “You into bombs?”

“Oh my god,” the kid intoned, hands rising to the back of his head. He curled in on himself. “What the fuck.”

Oh jeez. He probably had family he was worrying about and Asahi wasn’t making it better. “You know,” Asahi started on damage control, “It’s not that bad. The city’s mostly fine. Probably some…you know, just some broken windows. I wouldn’t worry." 

Nishinoya looked at Asahi searchingly. “Really?”

He looked so small. “Yes, really. Scared some fish, is all.”

There was a long moment of silence. The fire crackled. The kid was motionless, and then he scooted forward, huddling closer to the flame. His knees were covered in dirt.

“I’m Nishinoya Yuu,” the kid said. “0-5-1-8-8-2.”

“You gave me your surname before,” Asahi said. “That your phone number or your age?”

Nishinoya laughed, one weak huff. “My I.D.”

“Are you a prisoner?” Asahi asked incredulously. “What, did you blow up the prison?" 

Nishinoya didn’t laugh at that. “What counts as a prison?” he asked, voice light but eyes sharp. 

Asahi shifted. “So, uh, just to make sure we’re on the same page,” he started, “You didn’t actually…bomb anything, did you?”

“No. Not that I remember." 

“Good,” Asahi said. “That’s good.”

“What’s your name?” Nishinoya asked. Asahi opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Not important,” he said. He didn’t need the kid telling anyone about him once he got back to town. That would make the whole escaping equation a lot more complicated.

“Come on,” Nishinoya said. “Eye for an eye.”

That’s not what that means, Asahi thought. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said, more emphatically this time. Nishinoya squinted.

“Fine, Mr. Mysterious. Are you a criminal?”

“Look, I didn’t pick you up so I could get twenty questions,” Asahi said, a little snappier than he’d intended.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a cop,” Nishinoya said. “Unrelated, think I may have sprained my ankle.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if something was broken, the way you looked."

Nishinoya was shivering, though it was slight. Asahi shrugged off his jacket and handed it around the fire. Nishinoya looked at it for a second before taking it. Instead of putting it on he held it up, examining the back of it in the light of the fire.

“What’s this?”

“Just put it on.” 

“What is it?" 

“A crow,” Asahi said. “With some leaves, I don’t know. I picked it up in a thrift store.”

The illustration on the back of the jacket had initially made Asahi unsure about buying it. He was a simple man with simple tastes, and a leather jacket was already outside of his comfort zone. But he’d only been on the run for a day or two and had left all this clothes in his apartment, which he knew was under surveillance. So he picked up the heavy leather jacket and hoped it would be warm for the coming fall.

“I guess I’m gonna have to call you Crow Guy, now,” Nishinoya said with exaggerated exasperation, slipping his arms into the jacket.

“Call me whatever you want,” Asahi said.

“Hey, it’s pretty cool. 'Karasu-san.' You sound like a weird old dojo master. Karasu-sensei. You’ve got the hair, too.”

“You’re one to talk, with your frosted tips.”

“That’s not what it’s called,” Nishinoya countered. He held up his arm, the tips of his fingers barely visible in the jacket sleeve. “Anywho, you got one of these in a small?”

Asahi laughed, half in surprise. Nishinoya smiled and then huddled up, staring at the fire almost fondly. Asahi pulled his hair out of its ponytail and shook it out, parting it in the middle. It was starting to get greasy, which was the main downside to having it long.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Guess.”

Asahi rolled his eyes. “Eight.”

“Ooh, very close,” Nishinoya said. “I’m nineteen.”

Young but not as young as he looked. Asahi could see it around the edges, in the sharpness of his chin and the way he moved, that he wasn’t as young as he had seemed before, in the road. That reminded him.

“Let me see your head,” he said, beckoning Nishinoya over. “We should at least get you cleaned up. Before it gets infected.”

“I’ll be okay,” Nishinoya said quickly.

“Hey,” Asahi said, raising his hands to show he wasn’t going to argue. “I’m just saying, if you get an infection you’ll have to go to the hospital.”

Nishinoya narrowed his eyes at Asahi. “Fine,” he said shortly, like he knew what game Asahi was playing and he didn’t like it one bit.

Asahi got up with a grunt and grabbed his backpack from the ground next to him, rounding the fire and settling down to his knees in front of Nishinoya. The light from the fire obscured color, making it hard to tell what was his dark hair and what was blood. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he could tell which was which the moment he felt it, crusty and dry.

“Jesus,” he whistled. “That guy really did a number on you.”

“You could say that,” Nishinoya said cryptically.

Asahi sighed and reached into his backpack. High on the fugitive shopping list were wet wipes, which were great for the gaps between showers, backwoods bathroom excursions, and wiping blood from the faces of unamused boys. He pulled a couple from a small purple pack with a baby on it and brushed back Nishinoya’s bangs.

 It was a mess. The wound wasn’t a cut so much as a scrape, like Nishinoya’s head had been dragged across bricks or gravel. It was hard to tell what parts were still covered by skin, but after a couple of wipes it became clear that while the injury had bled rather profusely it wasn’t actually very deep.

Asahi wiped delicately around Nishinoya’s nose, just in case it was broken, but it didn’t appear that trauma had caused the bleeding. Nishinoya grimaced and looked up at Asahi, nose wrinkling.

“That smells weird." 

“It smells like clean,” Asahi chastised.

“Why are you helping me?” Nishinoya asked suddenly. Asahi paused for just a moment before returning to patting at the dried blood in Nishinoya’s hairline. He sighed and then shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. The fire popped and bits of glowing ash drifted into the night.

 

* * *

 

The lights came on at 7:15, by which time Tobio had been awake for fifteen minutes exactly. He had dressed in the dark and waited on the edge of his bed for the door to open. His bed was messy but by the time he returned to it at night it would be neatly made, hospital corners tucked in and blanket smoothed.

_(…didn’t forget to lock the door, did I? He’ll be home before dinner he can check—what if someone breaks in? No reason to nothing outside don’t look rich. Safe area that’s why we picked it…)_

The attendant was coming. She was a worrier. Tobio moved through her recent memory. She’d been a few minutes late to work and that’s what had her so on edge. He didn’t care as long as she brought him breakfast on time. Through her eyes he examined the tray. Miso, an omelet, milk. Boring. Fine.

She unlocked and opened the door, smiling behind her mask as she entered Tobio’s room.

“Good morning, Kageyama-kun!” she said. She was tired. Her daughter had been up all night crying and she didn’t know why.

“You locked your door,” Tobio told her. She froze, about to set the tray down on the small white table against the opposite wall. “Don’t worry.”

_(Jesus Christ I hate it when he does this have I been thinking anything weird? Can he hear everything I want to move back to Tokyo why did I take this job.)_

Tobio looked up at her. She had large shoulders and a thin, veiny neck. “When is Yachi-chan coming?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” the attendant said sweetly.

She was feeling sick, Tobio read from the attendant’s memories. “I hope she feels better,” he said. “Tell her I said that." 

The attendant was new and skittish. They were all like that at one point or another. Most of them left but Tobio had learned to like the few who stuck around. There was one in particular—a psychologist named Keishin (though Tobio knew he wanted to be called Ukai-sensei and he obliged) who had good, interesting thoughts. He never caught himself, never gave any of those Oh no what if he can hear me platitudes because of course Tobio could hear him. He would often think his way through logic puzzles for Tobio’s benefit while they sat through boring tests, and he was very good at not revealing the answer until they’d gotten through most of the problem.

This attendant didn’t do that, though. She was terrified. “I’ll do that,” she replied, trying very hard to appear chipper.

But there was something else there, something Tobio had not been expecting. A bright yellow light, through the filter of a TV screen and a news broadcaster. Tobio met her eyes. 

“What blew up?” he asked.

Her eyes went wide and he realized with a bit of annoyance that this might be one of the things they had been told not to let him know. He’d learned over time that if he wanted to learn anything really interesting he’d have to ask very few questions and pretend that their diversion tactics worked. If people believed they had a way to keep his power at bay they were freer with their thoughts.

But that didn’t change the fact that the tactics, especially the ones they taught newer staff, were infuriatingly banal.  

_(Takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki…)_

Ugh. Tobio sighed heavily and played along, so she’d leave. He covered his ears and squinted, curling in on himself.

“Please stop,” he said pathetically. “I’m sorry.”

The chant continued, though generally people forgot, over improbably short amounts of time, to keep thinking whatever word they had chosen. “Rec time starts in twenty minutes,” she said quickly. “So, uh, eat well!” _(takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki takoyaki)_

She scurried out, the door clicking behind her. Once she’d gotten a good distance from the door she gave up on the snack food thoughts, and Tobio thought it was sort of cute how small people thought his range was.

He got up from his bed, socked feet thumping on the carpet across to the table. It had looked much less appetizing through her eyes. He sat in the single, small chair and picked up the child-size spoon they still tended to give him, even though he had recently turned eleven and was starting to hit a growth spurt.

“ _Itadakimasu,_ ” he sighed to himself.

The attendant hadn’t quite crossed the mysterious barrier behind which he could no longer hear anyone, and he watched through her memories the news report from the morning. An explosion over the bay. _(And they still make me come out here assholes what if it happens again?)_ No known cause, no leads.

Tobio didn’t know how far out into the water he himself was, because of that pesky barrier, but he knew that the explosion must have been close. He thought belatedly of the little red-headed kid from the upper levels. Maybe there had been another incident.

The milk was lukewarm and Tobio grimaced into the cup.

 

* * *

 

Asahi didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’d been awake for almost 48 hours already and Nishinoya’s slow breaths from across the dying fire eventually lulled him into unconsciousness. He didn’t know how long it had been, but it was still dark when he heard the sharp crack of a broken twig and opened his eyes to the low sweep of a flashlight and hushed footsteps.

He froze, bark from the tree he’d slept against digging into his back. It was chilly, and he wondered for just a moment where his jacket had gone. All that remained of the fire were a few glowing dots on the ground at his feet. The footsteps crunched around him, and then there was a small gasp.

“It’s him!” a voice whispered.

He’d been found. Asahi swallowed thickly, doing his best to remain still. He watched the light of the flashlight on Nishinoya’s face, and he watched with a sort of helpless horror as Nishinoya’s eyes opened, squinting against the light.

“Wait,” Asahi said, voice hoarse with sleep.

There was a yelp and a small thud and then, before Asahi could even adjust his position, the flashlight flicked to him, blinding him, and he saw a knife fly at his head.

He didn’t have any time to process it before the knife stopped, dead in the air, pressing lightly against Asahi’s throat. His heart stopped and he felt the panicky rush of adrenaline shoot through his body.

“Scared the shit out of me,” a man’s voice said with a small laugh. “Who the fuck are you?”

Asahi’s hands rose to the knife at his neck. There was no one holding it. There were no strings. He looked up into the light uncomprehendingly, squinting into the darkness around the blinding white for any sign of the person on the other end.

“No you don’t,” the same voice said, and Asahi yelped as his hands dropped. They hit the ground and stuck there, like gravity had multiplied just for them, and he couldn’t move. 

“Let’s just grab him and go,” another voice said, also male but softer.

“I want to know what Yuu’s doing in the woods with this asshole,” the first voice replied. Asahi felt the knife press a little closer to his neck. 

“I’ll go,” Asahi said, trying to remember what the voice of the man by the convenience store had sounded like. “I’m not going to fight.”

“Tanaka-san,” the softer voice pressed. “Let’s go.”

“Ryuu?”

Nishinoya’s voice. Asahi’s eyes flicked to the source of the sound just as the flashlight did, and through the afterimage the flashlight had left in the center of his vision he saw the boy sitting, rubbing at his nose. 

“Oh thank god,” the softer voice said, and Asahi saw another young man drop to a crouch in front of Nishinoya. His hair was light, almost grey. He didn’t have a jacket either. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Nishinoya said. “Hey, Ryuu, knock it off. Stop threatening my getaway driver.”

“If he’s holding you hostage blink twice,” the man with the flashlight said.

“I said knock it off, you asshole,” Nishinoya said, sounding both fond and annoyed. He shaded his eyes against the light and shifted until he was sitting cross-legged. “He picked me up when Oikawa found me.”

The man with the grey hair glanced at Asahi, eyes wide. “They sent Oikawa,” he said, not quite a question. “Already.”

“Oikawa found you?” the flashlight guy hissed, looking at Asahi with accusatory eyes, like he’d had something to do with it. As Asahi’s vision adjusted he could make out the form of the man. His head was shaved close and his features were sharp.

“I don’t know anything,” Asahi said.

“Ryuu!” Nishinoya whined. “Jesus Christ, with the knife. This isn’t Die Hard. I slept on his fucking jacket—he’s a good egg.”

There was a disgruntled sigh and then the knife dropped from Asahi’s throat. At the same time the pressure on his hands lifted and he slumped, breaths coming quickly. His attention was caught, however, by the knife, which began to drift away. Through the air. It landed in the hand of the flashlight holder. 

“I’m keeping my eye on you,” flashlight guy said. 

The man with the grey hair hoisted Nishinoya to his feet and brushed at his shoulders. “Did Oikawa hurt you?”

“He banged me up a little,” Nishinoya said. “I mean, had me bang myself up, I guess. If you ever have the chance to slam your head into a brick wall, maybe don’t. Where are the others?" 

“We’re with Shimizu-san and Daichi,” the grey-haired man said. “We need to check you out. You could have a concussion.”

“Karasu-san cleaned me up,” Nishinoya said. “Ryuu, stop looking at him like that.” Then, to Asahi: “They’re fine, I promise. They’re just worried.” 

“Karasu-san?” the grey-haired man asked with a small smile. “Is that your real name?”

“He won’t tell me his real name,” Nishinoya said with a pout. “I guess we’re not friends.”

“We met yesterday,” Asahi said plainly.

“I’m Sugawara Koushi,” the grey-haired man said, stepping around the fire pit and extending a hand to Asahi. Asahi looked at it for a moment before taking it, not sure if it was going to result in a handshake or help up. The sharp tug on his arm let him know. “This is Tanaka Ryuunosuke. Sorry about the scare.”

Asahi, once he was on his feet, took a deep breath. He glanced from Sugawara to Tanaka, whose arms were crossed.

“I’m glad you found him,” he said finally. “What’s with the magic tricks?” He tried to put on a bit of bravado he didn’t feel.

Tanaka snorted. “It’s not a trick.”

“Right, okay, well,” Asahi started, but Nishinoya cut him off.

“Yes it was,” he said with an incredulous laugh, like Tanaka had just told him the sky was green. “What was with that knife thing?” He poked Tanaka in the ribs and the other man shrunk away, hands coming up in a mock karate pose. “You could’ve made his _brain_ explode if you wanted. But instead you point a knife at him like you’re yakuza or something, come on. Show off.”

Sugawara smiled at them but was starting to look antsy. “We should get back to the others.”

“We come in on a daring rescue and this is how you repay us?” Tanaka countered.

“Guys,” Sugawara said, more firmly. He grabbed each of them by the shoulder and they looked up at him, Tanaka straightening. “We can have fun when we’re out of Sendai.”

This seemed to sober them up. Asahi pulled his hair back into the shape of a ponytail before letting it fall again. “You guys are leaving Sendai?" 

“Why, are you?” Tanaka asked.

Asahi weighed his options. “I’m not trying to stick around.”

“He’s a criminal,” Nishinoya supplied unhelpfully.

“I’m not a…” Asahi bit his tongue. “Anyway. I’m looking to leave. Where are you going?”

Sugawara eyed Asahi up. “Tokyo first, then we aren’t sure.” He looked lost for a moment, eyes drifting away from Asahi and into the sky. Then he closed them tightly and sighed. “You should come with us.”

Both Nishinoya and Tanaka looked at Sugawara in shock. Asahi hesitated.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“It’s a very, very long story,” Sugawara continued. “But I’m the only one of our group who’s been…who knows…” he struggled. “Who’s lived on the outside as an adult,” he decided on. “I know that doesn’t make sense. But we could use the knowledge of someone who’s…uninvolved.”

“You also didn’t kill me in my sleep,” Nishinoya said, acquiescing.

Asahi furrowed his brow. “You’re right, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Suga, I know you’re a bleeding heart, but what the fuck?”

Sugawara pursed his lips. “He’s also seen your powers, Tanaka-san.”

Tanaka fell silent. Nishinoya rubbed at his eyes.

“I think Oikawa might’ve gotten in his head, too,” he mumbled. “When he picked me up.”

Asahi could still feel the sludge in his brain, his body moving on its own, and he swallowed. “Powers, huh? Are you guys superheroes?” he joked.

“If only,” Nishinoya grimaced.

“I’m unpowered,” Sugawara said, as though Asahi had asked a serious question. “Look, you’re a stranger. We’re strangers to you. We’re also in a shortage of friends, and if Oikawa’s after us—you’ve met him, not a nice guy—I don’t know if I can shepherd four people out of the city on my own.”

“Why can’t they get themselves out?” Asahi asked before he could stop himself. 

“Long story.”

“We’ve lived in an underground bunker for like five years,” Nishinoya cut in. He wasn’t saying it like a joke and Asahi shot him a look that he couldn’t himself parse.

He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but confident it would be a protest, but Sugawara cut him off.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” he asked.

Asahi sighed. “No.”

“Then what do you have to lose?”

The wind picked up, just a little, ruffling Asahi’s shirt and sending a shiver up his spine. He ran his fingers through his hair, watching Sugawara’s face. If they were military then they were really going for some nonstandard tactics. He saw the knife in Tanaka’s belt loop and closed his eyes. 

“Fine, great, you know what? Fuck it. Sure.” Asahi sighed. He was on the run, he had no family in Sendai, and he had no plan outside of getting out of the city. “Let’s go to Tokyo.”


	2. The Puppeteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mind is a terrible thing to control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is shaping up to be way longer than I thought it would be. Also, a warning, this is going to be a slow burn. 
> 
> Forgot to mention: the title is from 9000 Days, from the Invictus soundtrack.

“Shimizu felt you,” Sugawara said as they walked through the brush by the light of Tanaka’s flashlight. He ignored Tanaka’s soft _“Yeah she did”_ and continued: “That’s how we knew you were close.”

“Not fair, I can’t do that,” Nishinoya said, limping with an arm thrown over Tanaka’s shoulders.

“You know she’s not exactly the same as you,” Sugawara chastised. Asahi was silent as they walked. He’d gotten his jacket back and his fingers danced occasionally on the handle of the pistol in his belt. It was an absent movement—he didn’t intend on doing any fighting that wasn’t in self-defense.

The other camp didn’t have a fire, and Asahi wondered how long they’d been out there. Probably not long, because the October nights were not warm, even with the added heat of a campfire and a jacket.

They did have a lantern, though, a small electric one perched on a low log. He saw that first, light appearing from the dense trees, and then he saw the two people sitting around it. As the larger party approached one of the people stood. It was a man, shorter than Asahi but sturdily built, with short hair and a strong chin. He wore the same thin white shirt as Nishinoya and Tanaka, and Asahi was starting to notice a trend.

“You found him!” the man said.

“It was uncomfortably easy,” Tanaka said, eyes narrowed in Asahi’s direction. Asahi looked back, exasperated.

“Welcome back,” another voice said. It was the other person, a young woman with shoulder-length hair. She sat cross-legged on the ground, which had been cleared away to dirt. “I see you made a friend.”

Sugawara was pulled into a strong hug by the sturdy man, and he laughed. “Hey. We’ve only been gone an hour or two,” he said quietly.

“This is Karasu-san,” Nishinoya said to the young woman, removing his arm from Tanaka’s shoulders and clinging to Asahi’s jacket instead. “He saved me from the jaws of evil and now he’s going to take us to Tokyo.”

Asahi shot Nishinoya an incredulous look. “I never agreed to—”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Sugawara said, waving his hand. He still hadn’t been released by the dark-haired man. “Our problem right now is that they’ve sent out Oikawa already, and he almost captured Noya-kun.”

The woman on the ground pursed her lips and the man’s body tensed. “Then we need to move.”

“We have to be careful,” Sugawara said. “Above all else.”

Nishinoya got on the tiptoes of his good foot to stage-whisper into Asahi’s ear. He nodded at the woman. “That’s Shimizu-san,” he said, and then his gaze moved to the man, who was still hovering around Sugawara, “and that’s Daichi.”

It was supremely unhelpful, because Asahi didn’t know their full names and he certainly wasn’t going to call anyone here by their first name, lest they mistake him for some kind of asshole or, worse, a friend.

“Here, help me sit,” Nishinoya said.

“Really?” Asahi asked, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, believe me, I wish I could do it myself,” Nishinoya said. Asahi sighed and walked Nishinoya up a few steps, to a spot that was a little clearer of the thick underbrush. The other man was impossibly light, like a child, and Asahi lowered him to the ground where his ankle wouldn’t support him. When Asahi looked up, the man Nishinoya had called Daichi was standing in front of him.

Daichi extended a hand, and Asahi stared at it for a moment before taking it and shaking, his grip less firm or sure than the other’s. “Sawamura Daichi.”

“Call me Karasu, I guess,” Asahi said. Then, because it had been bothering him, “You know, if I were you guys I’d be _way_ more suspicious of me.”

“Is there a reason we should be?” Shimizu asked lightly, watching him from her spot by the lantern. There was something edgy in her tone and Asahi sighed, exasperated.

“No. But I mean, I could be a murderer or something, I don’t know.”

Tanaka snorted and then broke into a fit of obnoxious laughter. “Oh no,” he mocked. “A _murderer.”_

“I’m just saying,” Asahi defended lamely.

“Tanaka-san, be nice,” Sugawara said, but he was smiling like he was in on the joke. Asahi was feeling more than a bit annoyed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Tanaka said, trying to stifle a grin. “I’m sure you could pack a punch if you wanted. But normal human murderers aren’t really on our list of things to worry about.”

“Normal human,” Asahi repeated, folding his arms. “As opposed to what?”

“Hey, uh, didn’t you forget something?” Tanaka asked suddenly, looking around. Asahi’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know, did I?”

Tanaka mimed a pair of handlebars in the air, pulling his wrist back a couple times like he was—

“Shit!” Asahi hissed. “My bike.”

“Oh no, whatever shall you do?” Tanaka recited in feigned shock, slapping both hands to the sides of his face. “If only there were someone here who was thinking ahead _and_ has telekinetic powers. Where-oh-where would a person like that be?” Tanaka’s gaze moved upward, past Asahi’s head.

“Telekinetic…” Asahi started, turning around slowly.

Like a ship appearing in the night the front wheel of his bike emerged from the dark, eerie in the glow of the lantern, about two meters farther off the ground than bikes usually were. Asahi watched in a mix of horror and wonder as the motorcycle drifted between the trees framing the camp and up over his head, sailing through the air like it was being held by strings. Just like the knife. He reached up, fingers brushing the underside of the bike’s body, and then he whipped back around to face Tanaka.

“What,” he said, not quite a question.

Tanaka was grinning and Sugawara was shaking his head. “Like I said, I think we could handle a murderer just fine.” There was a pause, then: “Watch out!”

Asahi looked up as the bike began to fall. He tensed and ducked, hands over his head, but the impact never came. His heart was pounding as he glanced back up at the bike, which sat in the air millimeters from his head. He looked to Tanaka, eyes wide, and then to Sugawara.

Tanaka was laughing. “Ryuu, you piece of shit!” Nishinoya cried, voice thick with mirth, as he kicked his good leg out into Tanaka’s knee.

“Now is not the time,” Sawamura chastised sharply, planting a withering glare on Tanaka and Nishinoya. “Put it down.”

Tanaka grumbled and set the bike down next to a tree, snapping down the kickstand just as it touched the ground. Asahi watched him warily, wondering if it was possible for someone to run out of adrenaline.

“So you _are_ superheroes,” he said.

“But cooler,” Tanaka said. Nishinoya kicked him again. “Hey! Fine, I’m sorry. You know I wasn’t actually going to squash you, right?”

“Thanks,” Asahi said, trying for icy but missing the mark.

“Please do your best to ignore him. And please don’t run away,” Sugawara said. “Are you hungry? We have some food.”

“We’re starving,” Nishinoya piped up on Asahi’s behalf. “Getting mind controlled and all.”

Asahi didn’t move, eyes scanning the group of people in front of him and mind refusing to work quickly enough. “Can you all do that?” he asked slowly, jerking a thumb in the direction of his bike, now blessedly motionless.

Sugawara crouched to what looked like a backpack, obscured in the dark. “I can’t,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “And none of their abilities are quite the same. How do you feel about onigiri?”

“What?” Asahi asked before the question processed. “Oh, that’s fine.”

“Sit,” Sugawara said. “Kiyoko-san, could we get a fire?”

Asahi shrugged off his backpack. “I have a lighter,” he offered.

Shimizu leaned forward and pressed her finger on the ground. Asahi watched as light appeared around the tip, growing until it covered her hand. When she removed her arm there was the shortest breath of a pause and then the spot she’d touched burst into flames.

Asahi pursed his lips and nodded. “Right.” He stepped forward and crouched next to Sugawara, who was pulling a couple of wrapped convenience store rice balls from the backpack. The fire was warm and seemed absolutely normal, except for the fact that it wasn’t actually burning anything and was hovering several centimeters off of the ground.

Sugawara handed him the triangle-shaped package and then passed another over to Nishinoya, who hummed happily as he began to unwrap it.

Asahi wasn’t going to turn down a free meal, whether or not he was surrounded by superheroes who could lift motorcycles with their minds and create fire from nothing. “So, what’s the deal with you guys?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “You escape from a circus?”

“Much less fun,” Nishinoya said around a mouthful of rice, wrinkling his nose.

Asahi looked to Sugawara, who so far seemed to be the only one willing to give him actual information, but the grey-haired man was otherwise occupied. He had moved around the fire, crouching by Shimizu and having a very quiet, very serious-looking conversation.

“We escaped from a laboratory,” Sawamura said. “I know how it sounds.”

Like a comic book, that’s how it sounds, Asahi thought. But he figured he wasn’t in much of a position to be disputing any of their claims, given what he had seen and experienced in the past eighteen or so hours. “Sounds as plausible as anything else,” he decided to say, because he was tired and had no way to explain anything he’d seen. “What’s your magic power?”

Sawamura huffed out a laugh. “Invincibility,” he said, face light but voice bitter. “I can’t die.”

“That’s a good deal,” Asahi said. Sawamura smiled, tight-lipped.

“Not as much as you’d think.”

“Okay, well,” Asahi trailed off. “You’ve got the telekinesis,” he said to Tanaka. “What do you do?” he asked Nishinoya.

“Shimizu and I have a pretty similar thing going on,” Nishinoya said. He wiggled his fingers for effect. “Elemental shit. We make fire and water and wind and stuff. The difference is she can control it.”

“So you can’t.”

“Nope!” Nishinoya said cheerfully. “It’s all up to how I’m feeling, which sucks. If I get too happy or sad or whatever—boom!”

“Unless Tsukishima’s here,” Sawamura said.

“Unless Tsukishima’s here,” Nishinoya agreed. “Then I’m at the mercy of _his_ emotions.” Asahi had the feeling the conversation was getting away from him again.

“So,” Shimizu said suddenly. The secret chat with Sugawara appeared to be over.

“Karasu-san,” Sugawara said, “We’d like to ask for your help.” He went back to his spot next to Sawamura, and Asahi saw the other man’s hand come to rest on the small of Sugawara’s back.

Asahi took a bite of his rice ball, just hitting the salmon in the center. “With what?”

“We’re trying to leave Sendai,” Sugawara continued, “but we’re being followed and need to move quickly. We think it might be easier for us to get out unnoticed if our frontman is someone the people following us don’t recognize.”

“I can make it worth your time,” Shimizu said. “I take it you’re trying to disappear.”

Asahi squinted but nodded.

“The organization I work with has the resources to set you up under the same protections we’re giving this group,” she continued. The light from the fire flickered across her glasses. “I don’t know who you’re running from, but if you were to help us I’m sure we could keep them from finding you.”

Asahi glanced over to Sugawara and Sawamura, who were both watching him with unreadable looks. He hadn’t said anything about trying not to be found. “What kind of organization is this?”

Shimizu smiled. “Paramilitary,” she said plainly, though that seemed like the kind of thing most paramilitary groups didn’t want to call themselves. “There are a number of facilities in Japan conducting psychic experimentation, and we’re trying to shut them down and relocate their captives. The one we escaped from is called the Aoba Johsai Laboratory.”

“If you can get us to Tokyo they can give you a new identity,” Sawamura said. “Like the rest of us.”

“Why can’t this mysterious organization get you there?” Asahi asked, genuinely curious.

“We only discovered Aoba Johsai and its location in the past couple of years,” Shimizu said, “so the Miyagi branch is small. They have their hands full with the Phase 2 rescue.”

“Tobio and Shouyou,” Nishinoya said quietly.

“What?” Asahi asked.

“There’s another captive—” Shimizu began.

“ _Two more_ ,” Nishinoya corrected, eyes sharp.

Shimizu shot him a long look. “There are _two_ more captives held in a separate facility, under much higher security. Their rescue is a more… _involved_ process, and it should start moving soon. It also requires a lot of manpower, which is why we’re on our own for now.”

A distinct feeling washed over Asahi as he stared at the fire, burning on nothing and hovering a couple of centimeters off of the ground—the realization that he was entirely in over his head. There were things going on that he was not ready to understand, and in any normal situation he’d say they were crazy and drive off into the night. He looked at Tanaka, who was picking the bark off of a twig, and then at his bike.

The prospect of a new identity in Tokyo was attractive, though he wasn’t sure what a group of psychic superheroes could use him for. He cleared his throat.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You don’t have a car,” Shimizu said, a statement. Asahi shook his head. “What would the safest route to Tokyo be? We need your advice.”

“Is that all?” Asahi asked, surprised.

“This is very important,” Shimizu replied.

“Could we take a bullet train?” Nishinoya suggested. “Always wanted to go on one of those.”

“Only if you’ve got a hundred thousand yen to spare,” Asahi said. “You could probably get there in six or seven hours by local trains, but that’s with a couple of transfers and if we’re laying low it’s probably not ideal. I’d say bus is our best way out.”

“Lame,” Tanaka murmured.

“Lame,” Asahi agreed, “But cheap. Five hours nonstop, no transfers to worry about. Four thousand yen a person, give or take.” He looked around the fire and sighed. “I’m guessing none of you have any money.”

“I’ve been buying food,” Sugawara said sheepishly. “But I’m running low on cash.”

“We can definitely reimburse you when we get settled in Tokyo,” Shimizu said.

“So you just want me for my money,” Asahi joked. No laughs. That was fine. “Yeah, I probably have enough. Is that all? I get you guys out of Sendai and you put me in witness protection?”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Shimizu replied.

“Why can’t he just fly you all there or something?” Asahi asked, pointing at Tanaka.

“I can only do inanimate objects,” Tanaka said with a grimace. “I can’t keep track of things that move by themselves.”

“I literally don’t know how any of this works,” Asahi said.

“Maybe if we stole a car or something I could fly _that_ to Tokyo…” Tanaka mused.

“Where do we need to be to catch a bus?” Shimizu asked, ignoring Tanaka.

“Sendai Station,” Asahi said. “We could probably leave tomorrow.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Sugawara said, with a sense of finality that Asahi did not feel. He looked at the half-finished rice ball in his hands and decided he’d give himself time to process everything later.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Karasu-san.”

Asahi opened his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping—he hadn’t planned on sleeping at all—and it was still very dark. Shimizu’s fire had died to about half its size as she slept, but it hadn’t disappeared completely. Nishinoya sat at Asahi’s feet.

“What’s up?” Asahi whispered back.

“I thought you were awake,” Nishinoya said. “Nothing, I just can’t sleep. Plus it’s cold.”

“You can have my jacket again if you want,” Asahi offered.

“Nah,” Nishinoya waved him away. “I just like complaining. I got tired of staring at this leaf,” He said, holding up a dry, crackly maple leaf. He didn’t say anything for a second, twirling the leaf, before: “So where are you from?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Asahi said. “You?”

“I was born in Osaki,” Nishinoya replied. “Fourth year of elementary school I won a track race and got so happy I accidentally flooded the athletic field.” He laughed. “My folks had to move us to Sendai because they wouldn’t let me back to school.”

Asahi thought it might be funny if it weren’t so strange. “How long have you had…y’know?”

“Since forever, I think,” Nishinoya said. “It got stronger as I got older so little baby me didn’t burn down any buildings or anything.”

“And what exactly _can_ you do?” Asahi asked.

“Oh, all sorts of stuff,” Nishinoya said, shrugging. “The big ones are when I’m happy or sad or angry. Scared is pretty strong too, I guess. Happy’s water, sad’s fire, angry’s wind. Scared is sort of a wild card, but sometimes lightning happens.”

“Happens.”

“You know, that’s sure what it feels like,” Nishinoya said defensively. “My life would be a fucking tea party if I could control it.”

“Gotta make sure not to get you too emotional,” Asahi joked, but the look in Nishinoya’s eyes didn’t return the mirth.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya murmured.

“Hey,” Asahi tried to change the subject. “You’re a free man now, huh?”

Nishinoya took the new topic and brightened. “Oh my god, you have no idea. I feel like I’m just going to be some idiot, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I never finished high school,” Nishinoya said, a little quieter. “They don’t really do the whole school thing when you’re a…” he shook his head, “…I mean, a test subject, basically.”

He stared at the ground, picking absently at some slightly trampled grass. Asahi frowned and watched him for a moment.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nishinoya said. He sighed. “I actually was going to start on the volleyball team. I played in middle school and got pretty okay at defense. I couldn’t do much else—I’m not exactly the tallest guy in Japan, don’t know if you noticed.”

“You’re sort of shrimpy,” Asahi agreed and Nishinoya flicked his leg. “I played volleyball, actually. I wouldn’t say I was very good. All I could do was hit the ball hard.”

“Whatever works,” Nishinoya said. “You look like you did sports. You’re pretty buff.”

“I’m getting out of shape.”

“Oh man, so out of shape, only the size of a _small_ bus now…”

“Hey,” Asahi laughed, kicking at Nishinoya, who scooted out of the way.

“No, I get what you mean. But I’ve always wanted a friend who could bench press me. It’s hot.”

“Jesus,” Asahi groaned, rolling his eyes. “Where did you pick up all the snark?”

“Coping mechanisms,” Nishinoya said flippantly. “Gotta get through shit somehow.”

“I bet,” Asahi breathed. “What kind of shit?”

He regretted asking the moment the words left his mouth. He looked up at Nishinoya, who was staring at him. Nishinoya’s jaw clenched and then released.

“I can’t really talk,” he finally said. “I didn’t have it as bad as the others. I mean…Daichi, or _Shouyou_. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Just because you didn’t have it _as_ bad doesn’t mean you didn’t have it bad.”

Nishinoya smiled. “I guess so. I just feel dumb for complaining when nobody even tried to kill me.”

Asahi stilled. His breath was slow and he could hear it in his ears. Nishinoya was picking apart his leaf, tiny fluttering flakes spinning to the ground.

“Run that by me again, maybe?”

“Huh?” Nishinoya blinked. “Oh. I mean, they didn’t do any mortality threshold or endurance tests with me. Wait, no, that’s a lie. Before they picked up Tsukki they did one or two, I think. Honestly if they hadn’t found him I don’t know what they would have done, hah. It’s hard to remember anything from the first year or so. That makes me think it was probably shit.”

“Why would they…?” Asahi started, but he didn’t know how to phrase the question in a way that would properly express his incredulity. “They tried to kill you.”

“Yeah. I mean, Daichi got the worst of those. I don’t know if they did any other kind with him. They may have, I don’t know. I don’t think he likes to talk about it. That’s how he and Suga-san met, you know. Suga-san patched him back up after a couple rough ones.” Nishinoya’s face pulled into a grimace. “Okay, never mind, I don’t like this conversation.”

Asahi’s mind was still reeling. When he thought ‘psychic experiments’ he thought about movies where kids wearing brain scanner things picked up toy blocks with their minds or read people’s thoughts in the other room. Which card am I thinking of?-type things.

“How long were you there?” he asked cautiously, eyebrows knitting.

“I got picked up right before summer break in my third year of middle school so…five years? Five and a half years? I don’t remember most of 2011. They were really into drug testing. You know.”

“How are you…I don’t…” Asahi didn’t know what to say or how to phrase it. He decided on: “You say that like it’s _normal_.”

Nishinoya’s face was so clear, so unfettered, but so dark. “You only get mileage out of feeling sorry for yourself when somebody cares.”

“Jesus.”

“The worst thing, though,” Nishinoya said with a little laugh, “is that this doesn’t even feel real. I feel like I’m dreaming, and tomorrow I’m going to wake up and they’re going to take my fucking blood pressure and—”

Nishinoya cut himself off and smiled again, sincere and cool. He sat back against his hands and looked up at the sky. “Sorry, wow, I wake you up and make you play therapist. Ignore me.”

“You’re fine,” Asahi said. Then, just in case, “This isn’t a dream. If I’m here you’re here.”

“Thanks. You’re a good guy,” Nishinoya said. “Not that I’m the best judge.”

Asahi didn’t say anything for a second. “If I were a good guy I wouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

He didn’t elaborate and Nishinoya didn’t press.

 

* * *

 

Sendai Station was busy in the mornings, and Asahi felt more comfortable in the anonymity of a crowd. There was a tense half an hour on a city bus on the way in, and Asahi knew they looked out of place with their t-shirts and his long, greasy hair. The day was going to be warmer than the few prior, but the morning was still chilly and Shimizu did her best to project a little bubble of warmth around them as they walked.

They arrived at the station around 8, right in the middle of the morning rush. Perfect timing. The main terminal was busy and bright, sunlight from the tall windows fading the electronic billboards and bright café and convenience store signs. The floor was covered with small tables selling various things. To their credit, the escapees did not look especially suspicious, though if anyone thought their group looked odd they kept it to themselves.

“I’m going to go buy the tickets,” Asahi said when they were in the main terminal. Nishinoya and Sawamura looked like they’d made it to Disneyland, eyes scanning the lights and people in wonder.

“Can I ride the escalator?” Nishinoya whispered to Sugawara, who gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head.

“Don’t just stand around here,” Asahi said. “You’re more of a target. Head to a café or something and I’ll find you.”

“I want a coffee,” Tanaka said, face lighting up.

“Please try not to look like you _just_ stepped out of the bunker,” Asahi said quickly, glancing around.

“I’ll keep them corralled,” Sugawara promised.

“Fifteen minutes,” Asahi said, and then he melted into the crowd.

The signs for the bus terminal were clear enough, and Asahi walked quickly. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to recognize the faces of the goons who were after him, or how many of them there were. If they knew about his motorcycle they wouldn’t expect him to try to get out of the city on a bus or train, so he hoped that he’d be relatively free, for the time being at least.

The crowd moved quickly but Asahi walked faster. A woman wearing a face mask walked by, holding the hand of a small boy with a yellow bucket hat and matching boots. When she glanced up at him she shrunk away, pulling the boy a tiny bit closer. Great. Asahi knew he looked rough but he hoped it wouldn’t be conspicuous enough to draw unwanted attention.

The bus terminal was outside, which Asahi realized only as he followed the signs to a part of the terminal he’d never seen from the inside. It would have been smarter to have kept everyone out on the sidewalk, although the station probably provided an ample amount of cover.

Part of the problem was that Asahi had no idea how urgent their need to lay low was, or how close they were to being captured. He felt fairly confident that he could evade the bounty hunters after him—they’d only caught up to him because he’d gotten complacent and hung around Sendai too long—but for all he knew the group he had joined was a minute or a month from being taken in.

He also didn’t know what kind of firepower was after them, if any at all. Were they talking one person? Two? A task force? An army of psychic soldiers? Asahi was missing scope, and without it he was having a difficult time doing anything but keeping moving. 

The ticket office was right next to the spots where the buses would park, which was convenient for a quick getaway. He approached the counter and tried to look a little bit less homeless, brushing back his hair with his fingers and making sure his eyebrows weren’t sticking up funny, like they sometimes did after a nap or shower. The attendant was brusque and barely glanced at him, which was exactly the kind of interaction Asahi was hoping to have. It was good, efficient, and impersonal, despite the annoying need to talk to an actual person. Train tickets could have been bought at kiosks, which would have put another wall of anonymity between himself and station management, but Asahi also recognized that he was paranoid and this would be fine.

When the first crash came from the direction of the main terminal Asahi froze. The attendant looked up for the first time, glancing back and forth in puzzlement. There was a long second where he paused, hand reaching for the money Asahi had set on the counter, but then the phone in the office rang. Asahi sighed sharply and cursed under his breath, grabbing the money from the tray and breaking into a jog back into the station.

It would be too perfect, if the sound had had nothing to do with him, but when another rumbling crash sounded and people started to scream he knew that it probably did. His hand dipping into his pocket, where he’d hidden the gun. There was another noise and any attempt Asahi had been making to remain inconspicuous was dropped. He broke into a run, weaving around people and corners until he reached the main terminal again.

He arrived just in time to watch as a large chunk of what appeared to be the floor flew through the air and crashed spectacularly into the opposite wall.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

There was no time to think. Among the running crowd he spotted Sugawara and Sawamura, and just behind them Shimizu. They locked eyes and she nodded at a convenience store along the hall. Asahi banked into the store as they reached it. Sugawara’s eyes were hard.

“What the hell is happening?” Asahi asked as they ducked behind a candy shelf.

“Oikawa’s here,” Sugawara said breathlessly, keeping an eye on the feet running past in the hall. “Tanaka’s keeping him occupied and Noya bolted.”

“We need to leave,” Shimizu said. “Now.”

“You guys get out and I’ll tell Tanaka we’re safe,” Sawamura said. Sugawara’s gaze snapped to him.

“No.”

“There’s only so much he can do to me,” Sawamura said darkly. Sugawara’s jaw was set but he didn’t say anything, eyes running over Sawamura’s face.

“Where’s Nishinoya?” Asahi asked.

“No clue,” Sawamura said.

“He’s still in the terminal,” Shimizu cut in. “I can feel him.”

“I’ll go,” Asahi said, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“You’re unpowered,” Sugawara said plainly.

“Yeah, but I commuted to work through here every day for three years. I can get us out fast,” Asahi said, raising his eyebrows. “You guys go out the back, by the buses, and I’ll get Tanaka and Nishinoya. If we drop down a floor we can get out across the tracks and you can meet us around the corner.”

“Fine,” Shimizu said, as Sugawara opened his mouth. “There’s no time to debate. Go, get them out, meet us, and I’ll take it once we’re outside.”

Asahi nodded. The crowd had thinned and the main terminal, which was only a few meters behind them, was quiet. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and pointed it at the ground, rising and stepping carefully to the door of the convenience store. He peered around it carefully and, when he saw it was clear, pointed down the hall in the opposite direction, a signal. He didn’t look as the other three passed him.

“Don’t waste any time,” Shimizu said.

Asahi grunted. Wasting time was not on the to-do list.

Then he saw, across the large terminal hall, Tanaka. Two large tables and a metal shelf, along with various other bits of debris and small items twisted around his head, and he was still, staring in the direction of the far escalators. Something was there, and Asahi had a sneaking suspicion he knew what.

Asahi took a deep breath and ran for cover behind a large pillar, eyes flicking back and forth for any sign of other people in the area. At this point anyone here was going to be police, lab-rat, or Oikawa and whoever he came with. When he reached the pillar he pressed his back to it, inching around the side.

One of the tables above Tanaka’s head lurched and then shot forward at a speed Asahi barely even caught. His eyes widened and he flinched at the crash, splintering wood on stone.

“You know I’m not supposed to hurt you if you come quietly,” Asahi heard a voice say, one that was unfamiliar but sent a pulse of fear through his chest. “You can keep throwing things at me all day if you want, but it’ll only get _you_ hurt.” His voice echoed in the empty terminal.

“That’s why you brought the guns, huh?” Asahi heard Tanaka say dryly.

“What can I say?” Oikawa shrugged, taking a step down. He wore a black combat outfit, complete with a helmet and mask. The floating objects jerked but then retreated to their previous position. “If I went hand-to-hand with you I’d lose. I need a little insurance.”

Another crash. Then, “Come on, don’t pull your punches.” There was a moment of quiet, and then something that made Asahi’s heart drop.

“Noya, get back here,” Tanaka said, urgency creeping into his voice for the first time.

Asahi’s jaw clenched. “I bet he wishes he could,” Oikawa replied with feigned sadness.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Tanaka warned. Asahi took another step forward, still against the pillar. He saw Oikawa on the stopped escalator, flanked by a couple other people, and Tanaka twenty meters away, hands open and clawed, slowly rotating tables and chairs hanging in the air above his head. Then he saw Nishinoya, back slumped, walking slowly toward the stairs.

“I’m just doing my job,” Oikawa said coolly. “You’re the ones making this difficult.”

But something was changing in the air, and even Asahi could feel it. A certain crispness was materializing, sharp and tingly like static. Then, even from some distance, Asahi could see Nishinoya’s skin begin to glow.

“That’s not what I mean,” Tanaka said. Then, softer: “Yuu, it’s fine. You’re okay.”

“Drop the furniture,” Oikawa said flippantly. “Or he gets a bullet in his knee.”

Tanaka stiffened, eyes wide and angry. The items around his head stilled in the air and then dropped all at once around him in a cloud of debris. Asahi used the crash as cover and ran to the next pillar, gun in both hands. He was close now, less than ten meters away. All he needed was a distraction and they were out of there.

Nishinoya was still walking, limping, and the crackle in the air became audible. A tiny white arc of light snapped between his hand and his leg.

“Just calm down, Yuu,” Tanaka said. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” His voice betrayed otherwise.

Asahi seized the moment.

He crouched and leaned out from behind the pillar, aiming the pistol with both hands at Oikawa’s figure, and then shot.

The sound was louder than Asahi thought it would be, so close to his ears. Oikawa ducked with a small “Fuck me!” and a couple of other black clad people began to move. Asahi figured his position wouldn’t be secret for long anyway so he dashed out from behind the pillar, pocketing the gun as he did.

“Run!” he yelled, pointing straight ahead down the next hall. Tanaka’s eyes were wide but he nodded. “The others are out.”

Nishinoya slumped and fell to his knees, skin still bright. Asahi ran to him, but as he reached out a hand to help the kid up a sharp, painful jolt of electricity seized his hands and he recoiled.

“He’s scared,” Tanaka said, running up. “I got him.”

Tanaka pulled Nishinoya up and then hoisted him onto his back, apparently unaffected by the tiny shocks zapping between Nishinoya’s body and his own. Nishinoya protested weakly but his eyes were glazed and the hair was rising on Asahi’s arms.

“Oh, what now?” Asahi heard Oikawa ask, and then they were running. Tanaka was remarkably strong for his size and didn’t have trouble keeping up.

“Down, follow JR signs, hop the gate, platform five, cross the tracks,” he breathed. Tanaka grunted.

“I’ll figure it out.”

There were footsteps behind them, and Asahi looked back just as Tanaka sent a store mannequin flying right into the path of Oikawa and his lackeys. Asahi stumbled and almost fell, catching himself on his hands and pushing himself back up as quickly as he could. It took half a second too long.

“Come on, slow down,” a cool, light voice said from behind him.

Asahi jolted, almost pitching forward. He gasped, but all of a sudden his lungs wouldn’t inflate as quickly as he wanted. His legs felt as though they were moving through sludge. He tried to turn around but that was too slow, too. It was like a nightmare, where he was running from something but he couldn’t move fast enough. His other knee lifted to take another step, and he watched it in horror as it moved in a perfect running motion at a quarter of the speed. He was passed by a pair of black-clad people and could only watch as one of them slammed into the wall, jerked by their helmet. Asahi’s eyes wouldn’t follow the motion like he told them to.

“This is my favorite one,” the voice said, delighted. “It always looks so silly.”

Asahi tried to speak, but he could feel how slowly his mouth was beginning to move so he stopped.

“Okay, enough of that. Turn around, let me get a look at you.”

It was like something had pulled his shoulder, and Asahi whipped around to face a man in a tactical outfit. The man lifted his glasses and pulled down his mask, revealing a smile. Light brown hair peeked out from under his helmet and his eyes held an uncomfortable edge.

“Oh wow,” Oikawa said, eyes shining. “It’s Mr. Action Movie, from yesterday.”

“What are you doing to me?” Asahi asked through his teeth. His body wouldn’t move but his eyes ran over Oikawa’s face. His fingers itched for the handle of the gun in his pocket.

“Well, that’s rude,” Oikawa pouted. “Do you shoot everyone you meet?”

Asahi’s eyes snapped wide. He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even drawn the gun yet. There was no way that—

“You are _slow_ ,” Oikawa said. “Didn’t your friends tell you about me?”

But something was wrong. Oikawa smiled at him, and his blood ran cold. The other man’s mouth wasn’t moving. It hadn’t moved at all.

“What are you?” he meant to ask, but only the word “what” had left his lips before Oikawa responded.

“I’m getting bored with this, is what I am,” Oikawa said, or didn’t say. The sound was wrong, too dry, no echo, all the same volume. His lips were closed. Then, “You’re too easy.” This time it was out loud, and Oikawa’s smile faded. “Okay, tell me where Tsukishima is and then go shoot yourself or something.”

The name was familiar but Asahi couldn’t think straight. Oikawa looked at him for a long moment before he sighed in exaggerated exasperation.

“You don’t even know. Great. Oh, whatever! Thanks for the help. Make sure you don’t miss!”

Oikawa turned and gave a little wave before pulling his mask back up and jogging around Asahi, in the direction Tanaka and Nishinoya had run. Asahi stood there for a moment, feet planted and unmovable.

Then, with a rising horror in the back of his throat, he watched his hand move, slowly, up to the pocket of his jacket. He clenched his jaw, trying with every ounce of willpower he had to stop it, to just hold it there, but it slipped into the pocket and he could feel the cool on his palm as his hand closed around the stock of the pistol.

“Tanaka,” he gritted, trying to look around. As far as he could tell he was alone, even as he heard the footsteps and yells from ahead. His hand pulled the gun from the pocket, agonizingly slowly. Tanaka could take the gun, if he were there.

Maybe if he could take a step…he remembered Nishinoya saying something about Oikawa’s “range,” and once the bike had gotten far enough away that overwhelming urge to crash into the wall had all but disappeared. If he could take a step maybe he could take another, and then he could move out of whatever radius he was figuring out Oikawa could control.

But there was no way. His legs wouldn’t listen. The sudden feeling of intense claustrophobia washed over Asahi. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t make himself breathe faster, or slower, and he could barely speak.

 _Go shoot yourself or something_ , Oikawa’s voice echoed in his mind, not really words but a _feeling_ , all-encompassing. His mouth opened and dread washed over him as he brought the pistol up, slotting it between his teeth and—

_Shhhhhhhhh._

He stopped.

_Shhhhhhhhh._

A wave of calm rushed over him, more intense than the panic had been. He still couldn’t move, hand on gun, gun in mouth, but his finger wasn’t tugging at the trigger. He was frozen, stuck in time, and he realized in a slow, sleepy way that there was someone else inside his head.

Help, he thought. He had no clue who had taken over, or why they were there, but something was stopping his hand from finishing the job and that was all he needed to know.

Then, like coming to the surface after drowning, Oikawa stepped out of range and Asahi was released.

He gasped, jerking the gun out of his mouth and throwing it across the floor. It slid, spinning, on the tile. Asahi fell to his knees, breathing like there was no oxygen in the room, head reeling but so, so blessedly clear.

Maybe he was taking a few too many breaths in too short a time, because after a moment everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

“He’s not as light as he looks,” a voice said, distant and tinny.

“You’re strong, be quiet.”

“I’m just saying.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s no good,” Oikawa lamented, glancing back and forth across the empty train station. They were waiting for a pickup, and Oikawa’s sock had slipped down in his boot and was making him antsy. “Nishinoya’s too much of a wild card without Tsukishima. I can’t keep a hold on both him _and_ Tanaka at the same time.”

“Or you’re just bad at this,” Iwaizumi Hajime said, flicking lightly between Oikawa’s eyes.

Oikawa slapped a hand to his face to block any further flicks. “I’m trying really hard, here!”

“You’re just trying to look cool.”

“Okay, but did I?” Oikawa asked brightly.

“Not with that face.” Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose. Oikawa squinted at him and then rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so mean to me?”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything for a moment, eyes running over Oikawa’s face. He rested an ungloved hand on the junction between Oikawa’s shoulder and neck, fingers sliding in with the hair at the nape of his neck. Oikawa probably didn’t even notice the way he leaned into it.

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hissed, scandalized, but he didn’t bat Iwaizumi’s hand away. They hadn’t seen each other for a good while before this operation and it showed in the way Oikawa stood a little too close, watched him a little too long. Iwaizumi retracted his hand.

“This was just premature. Tsukishima’s reasonable. He won’t take a lot of convincing and then that’s one taken care of. And!” Oikawa suddenly started. “If that stupid normie hadn’t been there and scooped up Nishinoya yesterday, none of this would have happened! It would have been a perfectly fine sting, and we’d be on the way back to Seijoh, and that would be that.”

“You could handle Tanaka but there’s still the girl,” Iwaizumi reminded.

“Oh, pssh,” Oikawa replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “She’s no big deal. Besides, I have clearance to kill her.”

“You’re an awful person.”

“Not that I necessarily _will_ , jeez.”

Iwaizumi squinted. “What about that ‘stupid normie?’”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Oikawa said. “You’re a smart normie, sometimes. But no, he’s still alive. Which is fine, whatever.” His face darkened. “But I have to talk to you later. There was someone else here.”

“What do you mean?”

“In their heads. Every time I tried to get control there was someone else there. They aren’t strong, or maybe they were far away, but that’s what was making it so hard.”

Iwaizumi pursed his lips. “We don’t know of anyone else who can do that.”

“There’s one,” Oikawa said. Iwaizumi’s eyes snapped to him.

“He’s still in containment.”

“I know, which is why it’s so _dumb_ , ugh!” Oikawa stomped his foot.

The rest of the team had already pulled out, once Iwaizumi had confirmed that the station was empty and the targets had evaded capture. A smaller force had located the escapees and was tailing them at a distance, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi to debrief and prepare for a second, more comprehensive strike.

“Then you are just bad at this.” Iwaizumi smiled and Oikawa smacked him on the arm with a glove.

“Iwa-chan! Rude.”

 

* * *

 

Asahi shuddered awake and realized, with a jolt of vertigo, that he was being carried.


	3. The Mysterious Organization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is too long but procrastination is a cruel mistress and I've been avoiding real work with this so here we are. Also changing the rating to M because shit happens and none of it is good.
> 
> ***Putting a T/W in this chapter for sort of graphic animal abuse (and a suicide mention). If you would like to avoid reading the section in which this takes place you can skip from "He should have been suspicious when they let him name the rabbit" to "Then, quietly, “I love you,” and a thumb rubbing circles into his arm, and Daichi cried." It will also be marked with a "***"
> 
> There will be a small summary of the scene in the end notes, though it isn't necessary to read that either to understand anything that's happening. 
> 
> Anyway PLOT TIME.

Tsukishima Kei met Yamaguchi Tadashi in their third year of elementary school.

Tsukishima had never been bullied in his life. He spent much of his time alone, and though he was unpracticed he had no trouble taking someone’s anger and turning it into embarrassment. It was one of the few perks of his power, though it wasn’t enough by far to make up for the unfortunate side effects of preternatural empathy.

He felt the fear before he saw the fight, sharp and hollow and flooding his chest like a punch. His own stomach twisted and he clicked his tongue, annoyed. It had been a good day so far, even if the teacher had been worried about something all day and it had bled into Tsukishima’s brain whether or not he wanted it to. That was the usual.

But this person, whoever they were, was _terrified_. It was a raw sort of fear that adults didn’t get very often, so this was probably another child. Another feeling—smug, thrilling glee—drifted in alongside the fear just as the playground came into Tsukishima’s view, and he saw its cause.

A boy was on the ground, surrounded by a group of other kids. His knee was scraped up a little, long-ish hair getting in his eyes, and Tsukishima knew at once where the fear was coming from.

It was an easy decision—he’d done this before. Usually he manipulated people as subtly as possible in order to avoid detection, but sometimes it was fun to elbow his way into someone’s head and make them feel whatever he wanted them to.

He cleared his throat as he passed, and some of the standing boys turned to look. Without pausing he took the fear of the boy on the ground and channeled it into the other boys, twice as strong. He could see it in their eyes the moment it hit, crippling and overwhelming.

“Pathetic,” he said, because sometimes he liked to perform.

The boys dispersed, one dashing away like Tsukishima was going to follow him. Fat chance. There would be a moment in a few minutes where they realized that there had been nothing to be afraid of, but by then Tsukishima would be gone. The boy on the ground watched, body tense but mind flushing with relief, as Tsukishima continued on his way. It was a much more pleasant feeling to walk home with.

 Somehow the boy had gotten attached to the idea that Tsukishima had “saved” him, as though Tsukishima had ever done anything that selfless in his life. He started to follow him everywhere, making one-sided conversation in the halls and offering bits of his leftover lunch after school. Tsukishima tolerated it but he was struck with the same unease he felt when he got too close to anyone. People were volatile, especially in their emotions, and he had long discovered that the more emotionally attached he was to someone the stronger he felt what they felt. He didn’t enjoy putting himself at the mercy of others.

But Tsukishima was also selfish, and he realized very quickly that the boy, Tadashi, wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was happy in a clean, pure way. Against his better judgment Tsukishima became used to the light, warm feeling in his chest whenever Tadashi was near. It wasn’t his own organic emotion—it was the feeling Tadashi got when he saw Tsukishima—and it was addictive. There was something satisfying about knowing that someone liked you, and so Tsukishima made his first real friend.

Around their last year of middle school Tsukishima began to feel the shift. He was with Tadashi nearly every single day, and in terms of their interaction nothing really changed. Tadashi smiled, laughed, took Tsukishima’s sarcasm in stride, matched it with his own earnestness, projected the warmth Tsukishima had gotten used to. But one day, while they ate lunch at his desk, he caught Tadashi staring off into space and realized with a bit of surprise that, somewhere underneath the bright, clear emotional pull that surrounded him, Tadashi was in love.

At first Tsukishima tried to do some secretive reconnaissance, asking off-handedly what Tadashi thought of various girls in their class and reading his emotions as he blushed and refused to answer. It was a day about two weeks after the discovery of the new feeling that Tsukishima discovered the object of Tadashi’s affection.

He walked into class late, placing an explanatory slip of paper on the teacher’s desk. As he walked to his desk he caught Tadashi’s eye. It was something about that day, something that Tsukishima couldn’t quite place, but though he usually kept his face intentionally neutral for some reason he decided to smile.

The rush was instant and so overwhelming that Tsukishima nearly tripped, eyes blowing wide. It was warm and light and everything that Tadashi usually felt like but so much _more,_ so much deeper and stronger and there was this giddy rush and Tsukishima’s chest tightened like he wanted to laugh even though nothing had been funny. Tadashi turned away to stare at his hands, a hint of a smile brushing his lips, and Tsukishima realized breathlessly that Tadashi was in love with _him_.

It was information he didn’t know how to parse, but he had always been and would always be selfish. He’d grown attached to Tadashi and as a result he felt everything the other boy felt more acutely, and that beautiful feeling of being loved was all but impossible to give up. It was better than any drug, and once he got used to it Tsukishima wanted to see how far he could push it.

They went to the same high school, a happy not-an-accident, and Tsukishima got carried away. When Tadashi came over to his house to do homework together they sat on Tsukishima’s bed and he let their knees touch. The result was intense and exactly what Tsukishima wanted, smiling despite himself. Tadashi’s eyes remained glued to his notebook but his body stiffened and he didn’t move his leg.

On the bus heading back to school from a field trip, Tsukishima pretended to fall asleep on Tadashi’s shoulder. The emotion he got wasn’t flustered or unsure but instead the lightest, most brilliant joy he’d ever felt. It was comfortable and so relaxing Tsukishima ended up falling asleep for real, but not before a small hand rested on his arm and he felt a little jolt of an emotion of his own.

And one night, sitting in Tadashi’s bedroom during summer break at two in the morning, Tsukishima told Tadashi about his ability. After the disbelief and joking punch they played a “what-am-I-feeling?” game, and once Tadashi was convinced they fell into silence. Tsukishima had never felt so small in his entire life, but when he said, “I’ve never told anyone else before,” the overwhelming surge of love and the tiny, joyful smile Tadashi gave him were more than enough to make it worth it.

“Thank you for telling me,” Tadashi had replied.

But eventually Tsukishima’s selfishness grew into overconfidence and he pushed too far.

 The air was cool but not frigid, early January, and it was starting to get dark. He and Tadashi were on their way back from a grocery run. It was a weekend and Tadashi was planning on spending the night, so they were getting food for dinner, though Tsukishima had gloves and was carrying the majority of the bags.

When they reached Tsukishima’s street it began to snow lightly, thick flakes falling lazily to the ground and sticking to the pavement. Tadashi was talking about something to do with school, some sort of incident during P.E., and Tsukishima wasn’t paying attention. He’d been working his way up to do something he knew was probably dumb. It was the next logical step in his quest for Tadashi’s emotional hit.

Outside of the gate in front of Tsukishima’s house he stopped them, tapping Tadashi’s arm lightly. When the other boy turned he set down the shopping bags and stepped a little closer, unsure how exactly to go about doing what he had been wanting to do.

“What’s up?” Tadashi asked. Tsukishima had hit a growth spurt a couple of years prior and had a good 10 cm on him, so he had to look up. Freckles dusted his nose and Tsukishima’s stomach clenched. “Feel something weird?”

“Do you like anyone right now?” Tsukishima asked, wondering why _that_ was the line he’d decided to go for.

Tadashi blinked and then quickly looked away. “Not really. Why?” A roiling jolt of adrenaline and small, glowing hope wafted off of him.

Tsukishima’s heart was racing and he wasn’t sure if that was from himself or Tadashi. He pulled off a glove and then, deciding he was too far in to back out now, he brought his hand lightly up to Tadashi’s cheek, fingers brushing the side of his neck and cradling his jaw.

Tadashi’s eyes snapped up, wide and worried. His nose was red from the cold but the flush in his cheeks was visible anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a small voice.

Tsukishima knew he was going to lose the nerve if he waited, so he leaned in without answering. He’d gone through this moment many times in his mind, but he surprised himself with how lost he felt as his breath reached Tadashi’s. He paused, in case Tadashi was going to push him away, but instead the boy’s eyes fluttered closed and Tsukishima’s heart flipped over completely.

He didn’t know whose emotion was whose, but when he let his lips touch Tadashi’s it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was chaste and short, and Tsukishima knew his lips were probably dry, but it was accompanied by an overwhelming rush of every feeling he’d ever gotten from Tadashi multiplied by a million, thick and heavy and pulling at his chest in a way that was almost uncomfortable. He wanted to be closer but to never move, to pull Tadashi in but not break whatever delicate _something_ had formed between them. Tadashi shivered and Tsukishima did too, a sudden, alarmingly vulnerable feeling pulsing through his body.

When he pulled back Tadashi’s eyes opened, and they stared at each other for what seemed like an hour, Tsukishima searching Tadashi’s gaze even though he didn’t know what he was looking for. There was light, and warmth, and _hope—_ and then, with no warning, Tadashi’s eyes darkened and he looked away.

“I, um…” he started, biting his lip. Anxiety worked its way into Tsukishima’s chest, and he knew it wasn’t his.

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukishima said softly.

“I should go home.”

Tsukishima’s stomach dropped, and he knew that _was_ his. He swallowed, the question on his tongue, but he had always been good at sabotaging himself so instead he said, “Okay.”

Tadashi looked like he was going to say something else, but he just made a small noise instead and Tsukishima’s heart was sinking into the sidewalk. “I’m sorry…thanks for inviting me. I just…um…”

You’re welcome to stay, Tsukishima thought. I want you to stay. We don’t ever have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, it was too much. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.

“Can you get back okay on your own?” is what he asked instead, settling back into his cocoon, pushing the anxiety to the edges of his mind and letting apathy creep in.

Tadashi left in a hurry, leaving Tsukishima outside his own door, surrounded by shopping bags and realizing that he was very, very cold. His brother opened the door and, once his initial worry had subsided, came to help him bring everything in. Tsukishima didn’t speak, wrinkling his nose and trying to figure out why he fucked up every time he tried to do something good.

The next day Tsukishima disappeared, stolen in the morning by an unmarked black car. One month later Yamaguchi Tadashi went to his funeral.

 

* * *

 

It was 6am, a few hours after the fireball lit the Sendai sky, and Yamaguchi was woken by a hurried knock on his door. He made a grumbly noise and rolled over. The knock came again. He checked the time and rubbed at his eyes, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m coming,” he called.

He padded to the living room and ran a hand through his hair, making sure nothing was completely vertical. The knock again, then a tiny thud. Yamaguchi cleared his throat and unlocked the door, only to have a haggard, shivering Tsukishima collapse into his arms.

“Oh my god,” Yamaguchi said, plain and maybe a little too loud. He grunted under Tsukishima’s weight but didn’t drop him, adjusting so his shirt sleeve wasn’t being pulled off of his shoulder.

“I’m glad you still live here,” Tsukishima said, almost inaudibly.

Yamaguchi’s mouth wouldn’t work the way he wanted it to so he just closed the door and helped Tsukishima to the couch, setting him carefully against the arm. Tsukishima was out of breath and his skin was freezing and bumpy under Yamaguchi’s hands. Yamaguchi was about ninety percent sure he was dreaming.

“Kei?” he said, afraid that if he moved then everything would disappear. “Is that you? Are you okay?” There were a million other half-formed questions competing for his voice.

“Yeah,” Tsukishima breathed. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them Yamaguchi shivered. They were intense, sharp, exactly as they had been the last time he’d seen Tsukishima, and his heart leaped into his throat.

“This isn’t…you’re not…”

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” Tsukishima said. He gestured vaguely to his body, covered in pocketless black sweatpants and a thin white shirt that was too large for him. “No phone.”

“Where have you been?” he asked, eyes running over Tsukishima’s face like he’d get the answer there. It was easier than saying ‘We buried you.’

“Nowhere,” Tsukishima said without breaking eye contact. “But I’m back now.”

Yamaguchi got him a blanket and wrapped him up on the couch, mostly because he looked like he wouldn’t make it to the bed. Then he made some tea. Tsukishima took the mug and stared at it like he’d never seen one before.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Tsukishima said, sipping the tea cautiously. His face was older, his jaw stronger, his hair shorter. He was taller, too.

“What happened to you?” Yamaguchi asked.

Tsukishima smiled lightly, bitterly, into the cup. “I got lost,” he said.

“I thought you were…we thought…” Yamaguchi let his head fall back on the sofa and he stared at the dark ceiling.

“What?” Tsukishima asked. Yamaguchi’s chest pulled and though he could have sworn he was over it—it had been years—he couldn’t help but see the funeral in his mind’s eye. More than anything else he remembered the way Tsukishima’s brother had looked, standing in front of the nice picture of Tsukishima they’d put up on the shrine. It was a loss more acute than anything he’d ever felt before or since. Tsukishima watched Yamaguchi and then recognition widened his eyes. His lips made a thin line. “Right. That makes sense. Of course.” He set the cup on the floor and rubbed at his forehead. “I guess I basically _was_ dead.”

“But…” Yamaguchi sputtered. “You aren’t.”

“Somehow.”

“Why did you come here?” Yamaguchi asked. His voice caught a sudden urgency. “Your family—”

“Home would be the first place they’d look for me,” Tsukishima said, and Yamaguchi had a sinking feeling that ‘they’ didn’t mean his parents. “And wherever Akiteru lives now, if he’s not there anymore.” He looked grimly at his hands. “It’s better if they don’t know anything.”

Yamaguchi opened his mouth to speak, his million questions blossoming into billions, but Tsukishima looked up to catch his eyes and he stopped.

“Also,” Tsukishima said, swallowing, “I missed you.”

 

* * *

 

Asahi shuddered awake and realized, with a jolt of vertigo, that he was being carried.

It wasn’t for long—almost as soon as he had awoken he felt himself being shifted and then he was unceremoniously dropped.

“What—?” he blurted, eyes snapping open and hands flying out. He landed with a soft bounce on a couch.

He laid there for a second, staring at the ceiling, and then his eyes met Sawamura’s.

“ _Now_ you decide to wake up,” Sawamura complained. “You couldn’t have done that a little sooner, could you?”

Sugawara appeared behind him and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a trooper.”

Asahi’s shoulders sagged and he hefted himself into a sitting position. “Where are we?”

It was a living room, small, fairly normal, with a tiny kitchenette to Asahi’s right. He blinked the fog out of his eyes.

“A safehouse,” Sugawara said, taking a seat beside him. “Shimizu knows someone.”

“Great,” Asahi said, just as Nishinoya made his presence known.

“Put me down! I’m not six! I can walk!”

Tanaka entered the room, a struggling Nishinoya on his back. “Hold your horses, jeez! Let me find a chair.”

“I’ve had a cramp in my leg for forty-five minutes!”

“I carried you the whole way!”

“So I have to make up for forty-five minutes of complaining!”

Sawamura squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth became a very thin line.

“All I ask for is a little bit of gratitude here and there, you know,” Tanaka said, and then he let go of Nishinoya.

Nishinoya yelped, arms tightening around Tanaka’s neck and legs clinging to his waist like a koala. Tanaka choked and tried to pry Nishinoya’s arms away.

“You _dropped_ me!” Nishinoya cried, scandalized.

“You wanted down so get down!”

“Hey,” Sawamura barked, eyes sharp. Sugawara’s eyebrows shot up and he suppressed a smile.

Nishinoya glared at the back of Tanaka’s head and then let go, sliding down to touch the ground. Tanaka made a show of gasping for air.

“This is a serious situation,” Sawamura said evenly.

“I _am_ serious,” Nishinoya murmured.

“Where’s Shimizu-san?” Tanaka asked, the act suddenly forgotten.

“Getting patched up,” Sugawara offered.

“Wait,” Asahi said, his brain just catching up. “You carried me for _forty-five_ minutes?” It wasn’t quite a question so much as a statement of incredulity. He stared at Sawamura.

“Start eating less,” was all that Sawamura said. Sugawara snorted.

“All better!” came a voice from down the hall to Asahi’s left. He watched as Shimizu appeared, an ace bandage tightly wound around her wrist and up to her elbow. With her was another woman, a little bit older, with short brown hair and a wide, heart-shaped face. “Oh, sleeping beauty’s awake!”

“Everyone,” Shimizu said, “This is Michimiya-san.”

“Literally everyone calls me Yui,” the woman said.

“She’s a member of my organization. She’s agreed to let us stay for a while.”

The mysterious, nameless organization. Yui brightened. “Make yourselves at home! Honestly, y’all are in much better shape than I thought you’d be.”

Asahi caught Nishinoya wink and waggle his eyebrows at Tanaka out of the corner of his eyes. Tanaka flicked him.

“We’ve had a bit of help,” Sugawara said with a light, charming smile.

“Well, I’m relieved the escape went well, considering the situation,” Yui said.

“Situation?” Sugawara asked politely.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Shimizu said, and something in her eyes made Asahi tense.

“Oh!” Yui said suddenly. “I’m being a terrible hostess. Now that you’re all in and awake I might as well show you around.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that we stay here?” Sawamura asked.

“Of course! That was the original plan anyway. Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”

The short hallway from which Shimizu and Yui had appeared was lined with doors. They gathered around her in an awkward shuffle as she spoke.

“Bathroom’s here,” she said, pushing open a door. “Shower if you need to.”

“Oh thank god,” Asahi breathed without meaning to. His hair was stringy and awful and he was sure he smelled just as bad. It had been days—maybe four, maybe five, he thought—since he’d had a real shower.

“Dibs on first shower!” Nishinoya said. Asahi’s eyes narrowed. “Listen, I’ve been sitting with my own crusty blood for more than a day and I am _not_ a fan.”

“Let’s wrap up your ankle too,” Sugawara said.

“Two people can sleep in the living room, one can sleep in here,” Yui continued, opening another door. There was a small study with an armchair. “I don’t have a bed for everyone, unfortunately.”

“We slept on the ground last night,” Tanaka said and Yui laughed.

“Oh, I believe you. We can probably fit two more in the guest room—it’s very small, hope you don’t mind getting cozy—and someone can stay in my room.”

Nishinoya nudged at Tanaka again and was rewarded with a smack to the side of the head.

She opened the guest room (which turned out to be a mattress on the floor in a room only barely big enough to fit it) and then her bedroom at the end of the hall. It was larger, a bit untidy, an unmade bed on the floor and a wide dresser. On top of the dresser was a large cage, and inside was a fluffy white rabbit.

Beside him, Asahi saw Sawamura recoil. He glanced over to make sure everything was okay, and saw the other man frozen, eyes wide and locked on the cage. No one else had seemed to notice, chatting lightly with Yui as she opened a closet in the wall and pulled out a mattress roll with a huff.

Sawamura hadn’t moved from the doorway. Asahi inched over and nudged Sugawara. Their eyes met and he jerked his head lightly in Sawamura’s direction. Sugawara sighed and went to Sawamura quietly.

Sawamura was breathing quickly and he jumped when Sugawara’s hand settled on his arm. Yui stopped talking and watched them for a moment. “Is he okay?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” Sugawara said thinly. “We’re going to go sit in the guest room for a bit, I think.”

He led Sawamura out of the room, and Asahi got a look at the other man’s face. It wasn’t scared, or upset. Instead his eyes were blank and searching, almost unfocused. Yui sat back on her haunches, frowning with the mattress in her hands.

“Did I do something?” she asked once they had left.

“I don’t think so,” Shimizu answered.

“I’ve never seen him do that,” Nishinoya said, pulling his mouth to the side.

“Suga’ll take care of him,” Tanaka said.

“They’re close, huh?” Asahi said, and Tanaka looked at him a little funny.

“Yeah, they are.”

“Y’all are hungry, aren’t you?” Yui asked suddenly, standing and guiding the bedroll on the floor with her foot. Nishinoya lit up.

“ _Starving_ ,” he intoned.

“You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, but I’ll whip something up for breakfast.” Yui stepped past Asahi and into the hall. The guest room door was closed. He frowned at it as they passed back into the living room.

 

* * *

 

It was only eggs and a bit of bread but Asahi’s stomach awakened with a painful jolt when Yui placed the plate in front of him. Nishinoya came to sit next to him with his own plate, Tanaka choosing not-so-subtly to sit at the counter to talk to Yui while she cooked. Shimizu was characteristically quiet, thoughtful. Asahi had noticed that, since waking, his hands were a bit jittery and his head felt odd.

“Thanks for the distraction back at the station,” Nishinoya said, mouth already full. “Cowboy.”

“Yee-haw,” Asahi said and Nishinoya laughed.

“Seems sort of familiar.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours,” Asahi said, a bit incredulously. “Feels like longer.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Nishinoya said, leaning over to see the time on the microwave. “Sorry you got caught up in all the ruckus.”

“I don’t seem to know what’s good for me,” Asahi replied, though not bitterly. “Not sure I’m completely on board with the magic powers situation, though.” He took a breath and looked at the fork quivering slightly in his hand.

“I forget that it’s like,” Nishinoya paused, “not a thing. In the real world. I’ve been out of the loop for a while.”

“I’m not a big fan of having someone in my brain,” Asahi said. “Am I going to have to get used to that?”

“If we can avoid Oikawa then no,” Nishinoya shrugged. “I mean, once they get Tobio-kun out you might get a taste of him, but he’s different. He can’t help it, you know.”

“He’s one of the people still in your lab.”

“Not _my_ lab,” Nishinoya said, offended. “He’s a kid. They picked up him and Shouyou about the same time they got me. They were six.”

Asahi’s lips pursed. “Six.”

“Tobio-kun’s a scary kid. Not in a bad way. They were both way stronger than any of the rest of us, except maybe Ryuu. That’s who they want back, you know. They don’t care about most of the rest of us, but Ryuu scares them.”

“So he can really pick things up with his mind,” Asahi said. “Just checking.”

“Oh yeah,” Nishinoya laughed. “That’s what he does.”

“He picked up some tables,” Asahi said. “And threw them at Oikawa.”

“I was there,” Nishinoya said. He shoved a massive bite of egg in his mouth and kicked his feet. “Mostly there. He was going pretty easy. Sometimes he’s scared that he’s actually going to hurt someone. Which is bullshit, because he can control his power better than any of us.”

“Going easy?” Asahi asked incredulously.

“Back at good ol’ Seijoh they did a whole bunch of tests to figure out how much stuff he could move at once. Giant weights and like billions of these tiny little ball bearings and all kinds of stuff.” Nishinoya sighed and swallowed the food in his mouth. “They never even got close to his limit, I don’t think. Ryuu would play around with ‘em, actually. Pretend that he was getting all tired and mess with their test results. One day he pretended that he couldn’t pick up one of their really big weights and they got all excited about making progress but then the next day he flew around a passenger jet for funsies so,” Nishinoya shrugged, “You know.”

Asahi furrowed his brow and watched Tanaka’s back. “Ah.”

“Don’t worry,” Nishinoya said. “He coulda broken out any time, probably, but he stayed in with us to make sure none of us got really hurt. Don’t ever tell him I told you this, but he’s a big softie.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Asahi’s hands were starting to tremble visibly and he felt on edge. It was similar to the feeling he got when his blood sugar was low, but he was eating and food didn’t seem to be helping. He realized what the problem was and sighed softly.

“Hold on,” he said, getting up from the couch and putting his plate on his seat. His backpack was across the room, against Yui’s small shoe rack. In the outermost pocket there was a small, orange bottle and a handful of oblong, peach-colored pills.

Asahi tried to remember the last time he’d taken his meds. It was probably around the same time he’d last showered, in the old man’s apartment, and that meant that it had been several days. Now was not the time to have to deal with withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else, so he needed to get back on track.

He popped a pill and swallowed it dry, returning to the couch to wash down the odd, stuck-in-his-throat feeling.

“What’s that for?” Nishinoya asked. Shimizu shot him a look from her chair.

“Anxiety,” Asahi said. “Not a big deal.”

“What are you anxious about?”

“Everything.”

Asahi took his plate to the sink and started to run the water, but Yui waved a hand. “I’m just going to make more; save your plate,” she said. “You kids need some fattening up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Nishinoya called from the couch.

Asahi set the plate on the counter by Tanaka and then went to locate the bathroom again. The doors were all very similar but he found the right one, glancing back into the living room before closing it behind him. The bathroom was small and the light switch also turned on a small fan, which whirred to life obnoxiously from the ceiling.

Asahi looked at himself in the mirror for the first time and groaned. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, but that did little to hide how thick and greasy it had become. He washed his hands and then splashed at his face, which did little except get water caught in his eyelashes and growing beard.

“What are you doing?” he asked his reflection. He analyzed his own face with narrow eyes and let the beads of water drip down his cheeks and nose and into the sink. He was still feeling that unsettled jitter and hoped his body would relax on the whole withdrawal act soon.

Asahi’s face in the mirror was silent so he gave up and patted down his face with a towel on a heating rack by the door. The thought of sleeping in a bed, or even on a couch, was even more welcome than the shower he might be able to get. The idea of being clean relaxed his shoulders and he exited back into the hallway.

The door next to the bathroom was the guest room. Asahi didn’t want to pry, but the door was open just enough for him to see inside and it wasn’t intentionally that he caught sight of Sugawara and Sawamura. He paused mid-step.

Sawamura sat on the mattress, leaning against the wall, and Sugawara sat astride his legs, their bodies close. Their heads were together but Asahi could see after a moment that they weren’t kissing—Sugawara had pressed their foreheads together and his hands rested on either side of Sawamura’s face. Sawamura’s hands were wrapped around Sugawara’s waist. Their eyes were closed and Sugawara was whispering something that Asahi couldn’t quite hear.

It was intimate but not sexual, and Asahi felt at once very wrong for having been looking. At the same time he was frozen. His lips parted and he took a deep breath.

“The rabbit’s okay,” he heard Sugawara say in a low, steady voice, muffled by the door and half-whispered. “I bet she feeds it every day, and she loves it, and nobody is going to hurt it. Or you.”

Sugawara pulled his head away just enough to look into Sawamura’s eyes, and then he smiled a small, warm smile and ran fingers through Sawamura’s hair and Asahi knew that he was seeing things that were not meant for him. He turned from the door and paused for a moment before heading back into the living room, where Yui was just placing a second omelet onto his plate. The dishes in the sink were washing themselves, and Tanaka wasn’t even looking at them. It made Asahi shiver.

 

* * *

 

“The Miyagi branch is dead,” Yui said.

Whatever that meant it caused a bit of a stir—Shimizu smoldered from her seat on the couch and a freshly-showered Tanaka sucked in a breath, cross-legged on a chair. Sawamura and Sugawara had reemerged from the guest room after about half an hour and Sawamura seemed perfectly fine, save for how he and Sugawara seemed joined at the hip. They sat against each other on the couch, Sugawara’s eyes narrowing as he appraised Yui from across the room.

“There was a sting,” Yui continued, her chipper attitude from before loosening to reveal a much colder, more serious stare. The morning had turned into afternoon and that had turned into early evening, and now that the party was mostly clean and, in Nishinoya’s case, freshly woken from a nap, it had been decided that there was business to attend. “A few months ago. Could’ve been anyone, but it was probably Seijoh’s legal firepower. I don’t know how they found out our names but they got us on all sorts of little things. Traffic violations, credit card debt, whatever. There were only a couple of arrests but nearly everyone else went out to join the Tokyo effort.”

Shimizu’s jaw was set and Asahi decided that whatever Yui was talking about was not in the plan.

“Are you it?” she asked coolly.

“Somehow I managed to stay under the radar,” Yui said, lips thin. “There are probably a couple of other scattered around Sendai but we haven’t been able to organize. Or maybe they’re too scared. Either way, Seijoh declawed us pretty well.”

“Tokyo’s still strong,” Shimizu said, and it wasn’t a question. Yui nodded quickly.

“Stronger. They’re in a better spot. Even after the Fukurodani escape, if you can believe it. I think some of the hostages they pulled out decided to join up and they’re pretty powerful. They’re trying to keep contact to a minimum out here, though, just in case it could be traced back.”

Shimizu was staring at the ground intensely, and all of a sudden she brought her fist down on the arm of the couch and let out a growl. “So we’re on our own,” she said delicately.

Yui shrugged. “I wish I had better news, Kiyoko-chan.”

“We knew we were going to have to get to Tokyo on our own anyway,” Sugawara said. Asahi was getting the sense that he was a natural Pollyanna. “Nothing’s changed there, then.”

“It’s amazing that you made it out at all,” Yui said with a small smile. “You guys didn’t need our help after all—I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you get out soon.”

“They were waiting for us at the station,” Shimizu said, regaining her composure. “There’s a telepath—Oikawa Tooru—who they picked up from testing at Seijoh a few years back and appear to have put in charge of our capture. He was trying to take us in voluntarily but I’m sure next time he won’t be as nice.”

“That counted as nice?” Asahi said. He had a sudden flash of the gun against his teeth and his heart fluttered uncomfortably. No one else knew about the encounter, and he didn’t know if he wanted to tell them.

“That’s as nice as he’s going to be to us from now on,” Shimizu said. “He won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Tanaka snorted, though the mirthful look on his face was unnatural. “He’s not the strongest telepath in the world but he’s smarter than us. Waaaay smarter than some of us,” he jabbed, lolling his head to the side to look at Nishinoya, who rolled his eyes.

“I have a car,” Yui said. “I have a friend who might lend hers, and we can get you guys out of here tomorrow.”

“Sounds perfect,” Sawamura said.

“Um.”

Asahi looked to Nishinoya, who was watching the room as though everyone in it had gone crazy. His eyes were wide, like a cornered animal, and his eyebrows furrowed as he gripped the edge of the stool he sat on.

“Aren’t we, you know, _forgetting_ something?” he asked testily. Sugawara opened his mouth to speak but Nishinoya cut him off. “Like, _you know_ , a couple of children? Still stuck in Aoba Johsai? Ringing any bells?”

Yui’s eyebrows shot up. “They’re still inside?”

“We barely made it out as is,” Shimizu said, staring at Nishinoya but speaking to Yui. “Kageyama’s being held in a different area, under much higher security. We didn’t have the chance.”

“Shouyou’s there too,” Nishinoya said, and Asahi’s stomach tightened at the sudden change in his tone. The urgency had dropped into pure ice.

“Hinata’s not as high a priority,” Shimizu said. “We’re not going to jeopardize Kageyama’s rescue for—”

“Hey!” Tanaka said suddenly, sitting forward in his seat. His eyes met Shimizu’s and Asahi could see a scary edge in them. “For what, huh? For what?”

Asahi got the feeling he was missing something major, but in the tense air he didn’t feel like offering any clarifying questions. Shimizu closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. “The priority right now is to get this group to Tokyo. We’ll figure out what to do from there,” she said evenly.

“We’re just going to leave them there?” Nishinoya asked incredulously. “Wait for Tokyo to save them? How long is that going to take?”

“Noya-kun, we can’t be hasty,” Sugawara tried to placate.

“We’d better be goddamn _hasty_ ,” Nishinoya snapped. “They’re eleven fucking years old!”

“Are you suggesting we go back in?” Sawamura asked, his voice remarkably level. Nishinoya fidgeted.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. If there’s nobody else who’s going to, then…” he shrugged and shook his head. “Yeah. Us. We’re the only ones who can.”

“It’s a suicide mission,” Shimizu said.

“Are you kidding me?” Nishinoya asked incredulously. “You’re not dead weight, and if we get Tsukishima I can blow shit up, easy. Not to mention that Ryuu could pick up the whole fucking facility if he wants.” He leaned forward and Asahi could see his hands shaking. “ _We’re stronger than them._ ”

Asahi could feel that familiar clench in his stomach, anxiety creeping into his chest and throat like paint seeping into paper, slow and irreversible. He wasn’t sure if it was from the subject matter or the fact that they were arguing at all—both could be just as likely. When was going, and moving, and not thinking he was okay, like getting his bike the morning before or running from Oikawa, but now he’d had some time to settle down and his enemy had begun to dart across the back of his mind—he was _thinking_. His brain had time to catch up to the world around him and even with a dose of medication in him he could feel the heat in his neck and pressure in his forehead.

Sugawara was looking a bit disturbed and his hand clutched Sawamura’s knee. “Daichi’s not going back,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t decide that for me,” Sawamura said lightly, meeting Sugawara’s gaze.

Sugawara looked at him with a sort of quiet desperation. “I just got you safe.” Asahi saw in his mind’s eye the two of them in the guest room and his chest did something a little funny.

“Ryuu,” Nishinoya appealed. Tanaka looked at him and then quickly averted his gaze. He sighed.

“We just got out, man.”

“Look, I’ll go alone if I have to,” Nishinoya fired, glaring around the room like he was waiting for a challenge.

“Nishinoya-kun,” Shimizu said, shooting him a look of appeal. “That’s not something you can just decide without thinking about it.”

“Why not?” Nishinoya asked, certainty growing in his voice. “What would I do otherwise? Fuck around in Tokyo and sit on my hands? I’m sure the Tokyo branch of the org is great and they’ll do a bang-up rescue job. _Three months_ from now. You know where we are? Right here, right now.”

Yui looked worried, but mostly for Shimizu. “Maybe sticking with the original plan would be best for now,” she offered.

“Yeah, well, the _original plan_ assumed that you guys would be getting ready to get the kids out yourself,” Nishinoya said. “Now that that’s a bust, I don’t think the _original plan_ is an option.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” Tanaka said slowly. “Just…it might be out of our league. We barely got out as is.”

Nishinoya looked absolutely betrayed. “Nothing is out of your league—are you kidding me?” He looked to Asahi, whose heart sank. “Karasu-san?”

Asahi froze in his chair, feeling as though he’d been called out of the shadows. “I’m not…” he blinked helplessly. “This isn’t my business.”

“No, it isn’t,” Shimizu said brusquely. “Yui can put you in touch with the Tokyo branch and they can get you situated.”

“Wait,” Nishinoya said, furrowing his brow. “You’ve saved me like…four times, in the past day and a half. Like…”

Asahi held up his hands defensively. “I don’t have magic superpowers,” he said after taking a minute to find his voice. “I’m great at running away from things,” he added. The anxious knot in his stomach twisted. “That’s all I’ve been doing.”

Nishinoya stared at Asahi, expression unreadable. “Right,” he said, a little more quietly. “Never mind, sorry, that was dumb.”

“If Oikawa hasn’t been in your head for very long then you’re probably still anonymous enough,” Sugawara said.

Asahi grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Is that not the case?”

A beat. “Yeah, I mean, you know. It wasn’t…he just poked around a little. Told me to shoot myself and whatever. Or didn’t tell so much as, you know…he _made_ me. But obviously I didn’t.” Asahi shifted uncomfortably. “He asked about this Tsukishima person you keep talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s seen,” Yui said. “Tokyo’s a big place. They won’t find you. Any of you.”

“We do need to find Tsukishima,” Sugawara said. “Just to make sure he’s safe.”

“I can do that,” Yui said. “You all get out of Sendai and I’ll put feelers around. Maybe the escape might’ve brought some of the former members out of the woodwork and we can try to build up a little task force here again.”

Asahi nodded to himself, trying to calm his annoying, anxious heart, and looked at Nishinoya. This was his chance to disappear. It had only been a day. He didn’t really know any of these people, however welcoming they had been. He’d done more than his part already and could rest easy.

But something deep in the back of his mind, something traitorous and illogical, didn’t like the simmering, fiery look on Nishinoya’s face. Wanted to help. Wanted to say something.

He pushed that down and thought of an apartment in Tokyo and no one after his head, or in it. This was a godsend and he’d better take it.

 

* * *

 

The plan was set for the morning. Yui and her unnamed friend would bring their cars around front in the early morning, and there would be no stops between Sendai and Tokyo. It was better than the bus idea—what had they been thinking? Asahi decided to count his blessings and keep his distance.

Nishinoya had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, smoldering glare fizzling into impassive indifference as the night approached. Yui had given everyone but Asahi a change of clothes, more normal looking streetclothes that were a bit too small for Sawamura and way too large for Nishinoya. They looked a bit sloppy but unassuming and definitely less suspicious than the white t-shirts had been. Asahi had been shy to ask but had eventually obtained clean underwear, which, after a shower, conspired with his squeaky clean, good-smelling hair to make him feel much more like an actual human.

Sawamura and Sugawara took the guest room, Tanaka accidentally fell asleep on the chair in the small office while waiting for the bathroom, and Shimizu got the mattress roll on the floor of Yui’s bedroom. That left the living room to Nishinoya and Asahi, whose anxiety had faded to a dull discomfort. It was the kind of feeling he was used to, and it didn’t bother him.

The cushions on the back of the couch were removable so Nishinoya lined them up on the floor and Asahi got to stretch out on the couch itself. As he laid down he groaned deeply, realizing only as his head hit the cushion that he was absolutely exhausted. Nishinoya curled under a small throw blanket that was a bit too short to cover his feet and stared up at the ceiling in the dark.

Asahi let his eyes close and he did his best to drift off, but despite the exhaustion clinging to his bones he couldn’t seem to go under. Nishinoya rolled over several times, letting out a soft, discontented sigh every time. The quiet was thick and Asahi almost thought he could hear Tanaka’s quiet, open-mouthed snore from down the hall. After about half an hour Asahi cleared his throat.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Neither can you,” Nishinoya said quietly.

“It’s not about me,” Asahi said. “What’s eating you?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you have a stroke earlier, or…?”

“I heard everything,” Asahi said.

“I just can’t…I can’t believe that no one…” Nishinoya gave up on trying to find a comfortable position and sat, letting the blanket fall from his torso into his lap. His shirt was long-sleeved and soft, the neck wide enough that it pulled toward one shoulder. He was so small, Asahi thought. Maybe Asahi was just big. “I just can’t believe that I’m surrounded by inconsiderate assholes,” he said finally, a mask of bravado sliding into place. “Even Ryuu.” He _tsk_ -ed and brushed back his hair.

“It does make a little sense,” Asahi ventured. “It’s like breaking back _into_ prison.”

“Right, so, you know. Fuck the people who didn’t get out with us.” Nishinoya was trying to look casual, but the tension in his shoulders bled into his voice. “Kids, sorry. They’re kids.”

“So you’ve said,” Asahi said. He frowned.

“And I can’t even get really _mad,_ you know? Or else bye-bye apartment, it’s tornado time.”

 Asahi didn’t have anything to say to that so he deflected. “When we get to Tokyo you can bring it up again.”

Nishinoya caught Asahi’s eyes and shone in the darkness. The tiniest breeze prickled Asahi’s skin and he shivered. “When we get to Tokyo they’re going to get settled in and not want to move. ‘Oh, sorry, we’re already here, it’s a long way back,’” he mocked. “They’ll say that the organization there can take care of it. And then, if the Tokyo branch does end up going in, who knows _how_ long from now, they’re going to rescue Kageyama and say that that’s good enough, that he’s the only one they need to get, and they’re going to leave Shouyou—”

A sudden gust of wind whipped at Asahi’s hair and the blanket across Nishinoya’s lap fluttered. Papers on a bookshelf flipped and twisted in the air. Asahi sat up and tensed, watching Nishinoya with wide, warning eyes.

At once the wind stopped and Asahi could see Nishinoya pinching himself, hard. He shuddered once and then the wind died. The papers floated to the floor.

“And they’re going to leave Shouyou behind,” Nishinoya repeated evenly, flippantly. “We’re the only ones who care. Jesus Christ. If we don’t go in ourselves he’s going to be there forever.”

Nishinoya stood, balling up the blanket and throwing it onto the cushions under his feet. Asahi stood with him, brain going into damage control. “Wait,” he said, holding up his hands. “We should talk about it.”

“Right, because we made a lot of progress last time,” Nishinoya shot back, wrinkling his nose.

“Just wait until morning, at least,” Asahi said. “Don’t be dumb. You can’t save either of them if you get hurt.”

Nishinoya looked at him for a long time. “You should come with me, then,” he said.

Asahi furrowed his brow. “Remember how I _don’t_ have superpowers? I have my own shit.” He paused. “That could compromise a rescue,” he clarified.

“You’re the only thing that’s kept me from getting hurt so far,” Nishinoya said.

“By luck,” Asahi said, shaking his head. “I’m really good at moving in the opposite direction of dangerous shit. That’s it.”

“But you didn’t have to,” Nishinoya appealed. “You coulda kept driving, let Oikawa get me. Twice.” He let out a long breath and his shoulders drooped. “And look, here you are, trying to talk me out of being a dumbass. Looks like it’s becoming a pattern.”

He gave Asahi a small smile, genuine but not happy, and he sat back down. Asahi swallowed.

“I guess I don’t know what’s good for me,” he said lightly. Nishinoya snorted.

“Christ, no. Getting involved with me?” Nishinoya rolled his eyes, his mood suddenly changing. “I’ve been called a firecracker before, did you know that? Tsukki and I put together this sick combo where he makes me mad and I shoot fire and then I do a roll and push the fire around with some wind, and…” He shook his head. “Man. I hope you’re half as fucked up as me, or this is going to be a long ride to Tokyo.”

Asahi laughed at that, happy that the conversation’s direction had changed and trying to keep it that way. He sat. “The me six months ago would say no.”

“What about now?”

“Maybe. I think I’m a regular, run-of-the-mill type fucked up, though.”

“Hey, well,” Nishinoya waved his hands through the air expressively, “if we were all fucked up the same we’d put therapists out of a job, so. Works out for the best.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, a little more sincerely: “Go to sleep. You’re a growing boy and whatever.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Asahi laughed. “And I’m plenty tall.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me,” Nishinoya scoffed. “Not all of us can be Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

“I’m only two for three on that one,” Asahi said, brushing back his hair.

“Oh, and he’s humble, too,” Nishinoya said. “Take away the running-from-the-law situation and you’re a downright catch.”

Asahi didn’t know what to say to that. Nishinoya’s voice was primed for a joke, but there was no punchline he could offer to seal it off. He just shook his head.

“The kind of boy you bring home to meet your mother,” Nishinoya continued, a glint in his eye, and Asahi realized that a significant part of the joke was getting him to squirm. Asahi wrinkled his nose.

“Go to bed,” he said. “You’re getting loopy.”

“I’m always loopy,” Nishinoya brushed off. “But, I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, like for real, then I can stop.”

“What?” The thought hadn’t even occurred to Asahi.

“The…you know, the _handsome_ thing and whatever. Like…” he bit his lip. “Like, I _am_ gay, but I’m also joking, but if it makes you uncomfortable then I have a bigger comedy repertoire.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Asahi asked, trying to pick his words carefully. Nishinoya looked at him for a long moment before falling back onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh.

“Wow, fuck me, who knew,” he said, a little too loud. “Save me once and suddenly I become the king of emotional over-sharing. Sorry, Jesus, go to sleep. I’m done. Nishinoya Yuu is cancelled, everybody.”

“It’s fine,” Asahi said, adjusting himself on the couch and laying back on his elbows. “I don’t care. I mean, I care if you want to tell me, but I don’t _care_ either way about…who…” He searched for words, but he’d never been in this situation before. “Thank you for telling me,” he tried.

“Oh my god, please don’t do the supportive friend speech,” Nishinoya said, covering his face with the blanket. Muffled, he continued, “I already got the most awkward one of those in the entire universe from Daichi and Sugawara.”

“I bet.”

They fell into silence. The smoke detector blinked and the light from the microwave time glowed on the walls.

“Time to actually sleep, now,” Asahi said after a few minutes. “We’ll talk about everything in the morning.”

Nishinoya pulled the blanket down from his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice far away. “Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

***

He should have been suspicious when they let him name the rabbit. It was small and white with pink eyes, and when he first saw it he cried. They put it in a cage in his room and told him how to feed it. He named it Shiro because he’d never had to name an animal before and was only a few hours out of another mortality test, so his head wasn’t in the most creative space.

Blunt impact still hurt, even if it left no permanent marks. The little hits especially, like from a BB gun, stung where they struck, though they didn’t break the surface of his skin. The bigger impacts, like when they dropped the four-ton weight on him, he couldn’t really feel. The worst part of that one was the claustrophobia, trapped in the dark, chest unable to expand. He thought that the weight test might have given them the idea to do an asphyxiation trial, because a week after that they chained him to the bottom of a box and filled it with water.

He thought that maybe if he’d managed to control his breath it wouldn’t have been so bad, but even though he could survive indefinitely without oxygen his lungs didn’t know that and when the burn in them was too great for him to take he stopped struggling at the cuff on his leg and took in a lungful of water.

It was worse than the hunger trials, or even the burn trials. He thought it might be the second worst feeling he’d ever felt in his entire life, the water turning into fire as it clogged his throat and filled his chest and he wished his skin was permeable, because he was ready to rip into his own body and pull his lungs out himself. (The first worst feeling he gave to the temperature trials they’d done six months prior, because after the sixth hour at 70° C he actually wished, for the first time in his life, that he could kill himself.)

But in the weeks after they gave him the rabbit, there were no mortality or endurance tests. There were no tests at all, actually, and that was suspicious. Shiro wiggled her nose and hopped around her cage and he started talking to her. He told her things he wouldn’t even tell the nurse who brought him back to the real world after especially bad testing, the soft-spoken man with ash blond hair and warm hands.

The last time he’d seen a rabbit was around the same time they’d put the projection tests to rest. It was to see if he could transfer any of his power to other beings—to see if he could protect them from harm the same way he protected himself. None of them had been successful. He didn’t want to think about it.

But Shiro was quiet and soft, and she stayed in his room for several months. He didn’t tell anyone else about her—there had been an accident and everyone else was mourning. He pet her and didn’t cry, because he had to be the strong one. The others looked up to him. He leaned on the nice nurse and they kissed when no one was looking and he held Shiro on his lap.

On the last day they woke him early and sent him in for a physical and Shiro wasn’t in her cage. They took his blood pressure and drew blood and he knew there was going to be an experiment, but his mind was elsewhere, panicked. No one would tell him where she was. He thought, bitterly, that it had been too good to be true. Of course it had. Nothing was good anymore. Nothing had been good for three years.

The testing room was white and clean and he could see up above, a story up, the window behind which the researchers sat, cool and collected and unfeeling. He steeled himself for whatever they were planning. They’d done lots of endurance tests already, but he was sure they could come up with new ways to try to kill him that he couldn’t even imagine.

But then they brought out Shiro, a blue dot painted on the soft fur of her side, and he realized.

There was nowhere for him to go, nowhere for him to hide, no way for him to get to her. They’d chained his ankles to a chair that was bolted to the floor and even if he could escape they’d flood the place with gas—it wouldn’t kill him, of course, but any neurotoxin would knock him out in seconds. He couldn't feel his hands, or his face, and his eyes didn’t leave the rabbit, as they set her on the floor.

“Please,” he said, because there was nothing else to say. The panic was acute, inescapable, and it drowned out any other feeling or emotion or thought he could have had.

“December eighteenth,” one of the researchers said through a microphone, crackling and echoing in the testing chamber. “Resuming projection trials, test four hundred and eight, _Emotional Attachment_. Good morning, 0-9-3-2-1-1.”

He trembled and hoped to whatever god there wasn’t that this was a dream.

“Do you remember our previous projection tests? We would like you to try again. Please project some facet of your ability onto the rabbit.”

Oh god, oh god. He clutched at the chair and wondered if he could breathe hard enough to make himself pass out.

“There will be three trials,” the voice continued, high and light and devastatingly chipper. “The first two will be nonlethal.”

His heart sank down below his body and into the earth and he could feel the stinging in his nose and tears hot on his face. “No no no no no…” he chanted. “Please. _Please_.” His voice cracked and he sucked in a ragged breath. “Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her.”

“Well, you’d better protect her, then,” the voice said, like a parent talking to a child. He gasped for air and looked at Shiro through a fog of tears. She sniffed along the ground and hopped.

“I’ll try with a different rabbit, any other rabbit, anything, please,” he babbled, voice thick and gummy. “ _Please don’t please don’t.”_

“There will be a countdown from ten before each trial,” the voice said. “Please focus on transferring either the preventative or reparative aspects of your ability onto the rabbit.”

“She didn’t do anything,” he was saying, and he felt his mouth moving but didn’t connect to the words. “Please, she didn’t do anything, she doesn’t _know_ , she won’t know what’s _happening_ …” He couldn’t form a complete thought. It was all hot and panic and his heart was going to beat him to death.

“First trial.”

There was a large, red LED display on the wall facing him and it began to count down from ten. He cried out and struggled, and tried desperately to reach into himself and pull out whatever kept him safe, whatever wouldn’t let him die, already, and send it to Shiro, to keep her safe, but nothing felt different, and this was exactly the same as the other trials, because he didn’t understand what his power was or where he kept it in his mind, or why he had it or why it had to be him or why he couldn’t control it or how to even find it or—

0.

The shot of a BB gun, and a sharp squeal, and blood, and she was limping _oh god and_

“Trial one unsuccessful. Beginning trial two.”

 

Daichi gasped and shot up, blanket pulling as he kicked. He couldn’t see, or maybe it was just dark, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were streaming and his ears were ringing.

The figure beside him had been woken, and he flinched instinctively away from the hand that lightly touched his arm. His head snapped around met Koushi’s face, soft in the dark and from sleep, and bitter realization flooded through him. Daichi took a full breath and slumped, letting Koushi catch him and hold him.

He didn’t say anything and neither did Koushi for a long time, silent in the dark on the mattress on the floor in Yui’s guest room.

Then, quietly, “I love you,” and a thumb rubbing circles into his arm, and Daichi cried.

***

 

* * *

 

Asahi awoke naturally at about two o’clock in the morning, according to the time on the microwave. He hadn’t even realized that he’d fallen asleep. His eyes opened to reveal the dark ceiling and green blink of the smoke detector. He sighed and rolled over onto his side, eyes falling on the cushion bed on the floor.

It was empty.

Asahi’s chest clenched and he sat up abruptly. Maybe Nishinoya was using the bathroom.

The sliding door to Yui’s small balcony clicked and Asahi’s heart sank.

“You’re kidding me,” he hissed, hopping up and searching the dark floor for his jacket. It was draped over the back of the chair Tanaka had been sitting in earlier, which had been moved from the kitchen and had yet to be moved back. He snatched it and pulled it on as quickly as he could. His boots were at the door and he slipped them on without tying them. The balcony door was just off of the kitchen and the glass was covered by plastic blinds.

Asahi yanked the door open and stepped out into the cold night, the air harsh on his face after having been inside for so long. It was a clear night and the moon was just shy of full, so he could clearly see the lowered escape ladder and, down below, the small, dark form of Nishinoya breaking into a run.

“Nishinoya!” he called, but of course there was no answer. Asahi could feel his blood pressure rising and he squeezed his eyes shut, arguing wordlessly with himself. After a moment he grunted helplessly and went for the escape ladder. “Jesus Christ.”

They were on the seventh floor, which was a lot of ladder to climb down, and once he reached the bottom he realized that he wasn’t sure exactly where Nishinoya had gone. Asahi had seen him moving around the side of the building, but he’d gotten out of sight quickly. There was no time to waste, however, so Asahi took off in the direction he’d seen Nishinoya last and hoped it would bring him the right way.

His hair was down and flew into his face as he ran. In between Yui’s building and the next there was a small alley, big enough for a small car but not much more. It looked like there was only one way Nishinoya could have gone. His legs were short but he was probably fast, and he knew where he was going.

Asahi held onto a vain hope that Nishinoya was just going out for an aggressive run, or maybe he needed a snack really, really badly, because the alternative was that he was trying to head back to Aoba Johsai, which would probably lead to trouble that Asahi was now making himself a part of. The alley opened up to a normal, quiet street. Asahi stumbled to a stop and jerked his head both ways, looking for any clue as to which direction Nishinoya could have gone.

His mind suddenly brought up the image of the explosion, up over the water, and he decided on east, toward the bay. The mountains were black in the distance but he could see them in front of him and to the right. He took off to the left, down the dark street.

“Nishinoya!” he called again, eyes scanning the road and sidewalk and every window he passed. There were mostly apartment buildings, a closed 7-11, a bank. Asahi’s heart sank lower with every step.

Maybe he should go back, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. Maybe Nishinoya would run out of steam and come back.

Asahi slowed, mostly because he was out of breath and the adrenaline that had kept him running was waning. He panted, his breath fogging the air in front of him and that fog drifting up into the street lamp above him.

“Nishinoya! Where the fuck did you go?” he called one last time, jogging to a stop. “Goddammit.”

“Azumane,” a voice said, stern and cold. A hint of surprise colored it. Asahi’s blood chilled and he turned around slowly.

It wasn’t Oikawa, or any of the goons that had been after him, or anyone he’d ever seen before. The man was a bit shorter than him but solidly-built and imposing. His hair was short and messy and he wore a full black getup, a turtleneck under a vest and slim cargo pants. The most alarming thing to Asahi, however, was the tactical rifle on his back, sight pointed at the sky.

“Who?” Asahi tried nervously.

“I’ve been looking for you. Looks like you did all the work for me,” the man said. He touched something at the neck of his vest and spoke into what Asahi assumed was a microphone. “Target located and engaged. Hold positions.”

Had they leveled up their forces that much? This didn’t feel like the hired guns after him on the beach or in the street the day before. Asahi’s eyes danced around the surrounding area, looking for some sort of out. The man stepped toward him and Asahi recoiled, taking a step back of his own.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Asahi asked, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His hands were shaking again.

“I would,” the man said, “If I were police.” He cocked an eyebrow and reached for the rifle.

Asahi physically jolted with the sudden gust of adrenaline, breath catching in his throat and heart stuttering. He held up his hands and took another unconscious step back. “Wait,” he said breathlessly. His knees felt like they were going to give out.

“I’m not going to shoot you if you don’t run,” the man said, swinging the rifle around on its strap and letting it hang leisurely in front of him. “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, Special forces, and if you turn around and put your hands above your head on that wall you might only get prosecuted for treason.”

Iwaizumi nodded to the brick side of the building next to them. Asahi was frozen in place, brain searching desperately for some way to stall.

“I have rights,” he tried. A tiny smile formed and died on Iwaizumi’s face.

“If the government thinks you’re alive, you do,” he said. “I can change that with a phone call. Get on the wall.”

Asahi was trembling but he did as he was told. He put his hands on the cold brick of the wall and stared at the ground. Iwaizumi approached him and patted him down brusquely. When he hit the gun, still in Asahi’s jacket pocket, he removed it carefully and examined it before popping out the clip and turning it around in his hand.

“One round left,” Iwaizumi said to himself. “’Stupid normie,’ all right.”

He finished the pat-down and then roughly pulled Asahi’s hands down and behind his back. There was a click and then freezing metal around his wrists, and Asahi was trying to keep himself together. This was not how he’d imagined this would go, quiet and defeated and alone in the night.

He was pulled off the wall by his collar and he got a good look at Iwaizumi’s face. It was calm but calculating, jaw strong and permanently set. Then, all of a sudden, something changed. Something fiery flashed behind his eyes and the grip on Asahi’s collar tightened.

Before Asahi could even flinch Iwaizumi’s fist was in his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Asahi stumbled and collapsed forward, thick but razor-sharp pain blooming under his rib cage. He gasped and Iwaizumi jerked him up to his feet again, moving his grip to Asahi’s neck. Asahi’s eyes were blown wide, and he could do nothing as Iwaizumi slammed the butt of the rifle into the side of his head.

This time Asahi fell, pain drilling into his skull and the impact making him disoriented. He still hadn’t caught his breath and he hit the ground hard, only able to break his fall with his shoulder at an odd angle against the asphalt. It was all he could do to breathe, arm wrenched oddly, an aching and acute pain filling his head and stomach.

Iwaizumi took a step forward and Asahi almost thought he was going to be kicked, but the other man just stood there, eyes narrowed and breath even.

“That’s for trying to _shoot_ Oikawa,” he gritted. He reached down and hoisted Asahi to his feet. Asahi’s ear was warm and he realized he must be bleeding. He stared at Iwaizumi in a mix of shock and incomprehension, thoughts besides fight or flight all but gone from his mind.

Then it hit him. “Oikawa?” he asked incredulously.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi said, suddenly back to business, like the outburst had never happened. “Azumane Asahi, you’re under arrest for impeding an official investigation and endangering government property. I’d read you your rights but you don’t have any. If everything works out in your favor you’ll get handed over to the police and prosecuted. Don’t test me.”

If this man knew Oikawa then he was probably involved in whatever shit the escapees were trying to get away from. Asahi swallowed thickly and tried to calm his breathing. What if they’d gotten Nishinoya already? If they were already this close then they must have known about the safehouse. Maybe the escapees were never going to make it to Tokyo. There was something bitterly expected about it.

Then, like he’d been summoned, Asahi saw Nishinoya’s face appear, half hidden by a building, about fifty meters down the street. His visible eye was wide and Asahi’s stomach lifted with quiet hope. Then he saw Nishinoya move, toward the street, and it plunged again.

He tried to shake his head as imperceptibly as he could, but with how close Iwaizumi was it would be impossible to do more than that without giving Nishinoya away. The boy appeared to have some sort of death wish, because he emerged from the alley in which he’d been hiding and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Asahi could feel the change in the wind immediately. Iwaizumi was saying something into his vest again but he stopped mid-sentence, eyes following Asahi’s gaze. Asahi felt him tense.

“Thunder approaching, must engage,” Iwaizumi said quickly and quietly into his radio. He straightened and his hands drifted to his gun.

Nishinoya stepped forward, and Asahi could see the glow of his skin even better in the dark. This time instead of yellow it was green, and it shined unevenly, like he was being lit from inside. His eyes were the brightest, crystal clear green in the night even with the distance. He took a step forward and the winds changed, pulling Asahi’s hair into his eyes and then back against his forehead.

“Why did you follow me?” Nishinoya asked, voice thin. He continued to step forward, unhurried and seemingly unaware of Iwaizumi’s presence.

“Stop there,” Iwaizumi said, and for the first time Asahi could tell he was nervous. If the gun was anything to go by he had no powers, and Nishinoya most certainly did. The wind was picking up even more, edging toward the edge of the realm of plausible weather. Nishinoya’s hair whipped around, his too-big borrowed shirt billowing. He hadn’t taken a jacket with him.

“Are you bleeding?” Nishinoya asked, cocking is head to the side. His voice was eerily calm. Asahi’s wrists pulled at the handcuffs and he swallowed.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying his hardest not to sound like he was going to throw up. “You should run.”

Iwaizumi swung the butt of the gun into the center of Asahi’s chest. “Shut _up_ ,” he hissed. Asahi doubled over and coughed, a new center of pain in his chest joining the throbbing in his gut and head.

It was the wrong move.

“Don’t,” Nishinoya said, tight and thin, like he was being squeezed.

The green light brightened and illuminated the ground like a search light, and Iwaizumi got out the word “backup” into his comm. Asahi had only a moment between when he looked up to see Nishinoya’s feet lifting off the ground and when Nishinoya exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***The scene mentioned in the first set of notes is a dream flashback of Daichi's, recalling a test he underwent to see if he could project his invincibility onto other beings. He's given a rabbit, becomes emotionally attached to it, and in the subsequent test he is unable to protect it and it is killed.***


	4. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nishinoya explodes and head researcher Ukai tries to save a little boy's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry it took so long with this chapter--I had a little thing called my senior thesis, and it was hard to spend time doing anything else for a while. Anyway, here we are now! Things are moving along.

“You’re doing very well, Tobio-kun,” Ukai-sensei said, which was redundant because he’d already been thinking it. Tobio did his best not to squirm but he’d needed to pee about half an hour ago and now, an hour into the MRI, the discomfort was getting close to unbearable.

They were almost done, he heard from the mind of the technician two rooms away. Thank god. He shifted, trying to find a way to relieve some of the pressure. They were planning on bringing Yachi in for the afternoon while they analyzed the results of the scan. It had been a couple of days, so maybe she was feeling better.

When they pulled him out of the machine and got him unhooked he hopped off of the table and made a beeline for the bathroom. Ukai-sensei chuckled and thought to Tobio that he did a good job powering through.

It was silly, of course, the tests they were doing. There was a graduate student from some university nearby who’d been given clearance to do some testing on the quality of Tobio’s visual telepathic capacity. There was some other person in another MRI machine a few doors down who’d been asked to both look at and visualize several different scenes, and all Tobio had to do was watch them and visualize them himself.

He didn’t have the heart to tell the grad student that he could see whatever anyone else saw, in the same level of detail they did, and that this was something the actual researchers had known for years. Ukai-sensei knew that too but he was tight-lipped.

Of course, nobody was allowed to know that espers actually existed in the first place, so the results she’d get back were going to be fabricated and inconclusive. It was really more an unfortunate waste of time, and while Tobio understood that it was necessary to receive university funding he didn’t enjoy having to be the lab rat in charge of pretending.

“Just get a random person to do it,” he told Ukai-sensei when he was given the instructions. “That way you don’t even have to make up the answers.”

Ukai-sensei laughed and shrugged. “We can use some of the real results, too,” he said. Tobio’d also suggested letting him wipe the grad student’s memory, because he hadn’t had a chance to try that in a while, but the idea was rejected.

After the test they gave him some juice and a sweet bun, and they sent him into the playroom. It was annoying that they’d never gotten around to getting rid of the little kid toys inside, like the wire sculptures you pushed little wood discs across and the play-doh modeling table with bits of crusty yellow and blue still stuck to it. Tobio wished he had telekinesis because then he’d be able to play with the toys without looking like a baby.

Yachi was already there, sipping on a grape juice box of her own and kicking her feet in the office chair one of the researchers sat at when they were trying to be relatable and talk to him in the playroom instead of an office. The “fun” ones never lasted long, mostly because someone let them know pretty quickly that they were more suited to elementary school than a high-security research facility.

“Hey, Yacchan,” Tobio said, standing by the doorway and taking a bite of his sweet bun. Yachi hummed and swallowed her mouthful of juice dramatically.

 _“Hi,”_ she said. “ _What did you do today?”_ Her mouth was still on the straw of the juice box, mostly motionless.

 _“Had to get a brain scan,”_ Tobio said silently, wandering over to the bookshelf. Someone had started to restock it and slowly it had been filling with larger chapter books, including some fantasy series that Tobio had been eyeing.

Yachi spoke aloud next. “I had to stay in bed all yesterday and it was so boring.”

“Were you throwing up?” Tobio asked, crouching in front of the bookshelf.

“Ew! No,” Yachi said, wrinkling her nose and setting her juice box on the table. “I wasn’t even sick.”

Tobio always felt better around Yachi, almost eerily so, and he was always trying to put his finger on why. Even if he was in a very grouchy mood beforehand, once he entered a room that Yachi was in he calmed and his thoughts centered. It was an observation he’d never shared, mostly because he knew that there were no coincidences in this place and if nobody had explained it to him yet then it was something they didn’t want him to know. Either way, he was obliged to treat her like an annoying younger sibling, since she was eight and he was eleven.

“Then why didn’t you come over?” Tobio asked, picking a book from the shelf and walking to the table at which Yachi sat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Daddy didn’t want me to.”

“They told me you got sick,” Tobio explained, setting his bun on its crinkly wrapper on the table and licking his fingers clean. “Weird, huh?”

“Are you just going to read?” Yachi asked. “I wanna play or something.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ugh,” Yachi grunted, wrinkling her nose. “You know you’re always gonna win. Let’s play tag.”

“I can win at that one too if I want.”

“Not if I run too fast!” Yachi exclaimed.

“You can’t run faster than me,” Tobio challenged.

“Can too. I get to run all the time. I’m super fast, like whoosh!” she pumped her arms and kicked her feet in the air, making the chair wiggle.

Tobio opened the book, ignoring Yachi’s offer to build a skyscraper with the big blocks and then see if they could climb it. She slumped around in her chair and tried to see how fast she could spin it before bumping her knee on the table and stopping.

“Read to me,” she said finally, resting her head on her arms on the table. “I’m bored.”

“This is a big kid book,” Tobio said defensively.

“I’m a big kid,” Yachi pouted. “ _Please_.”

“Okay, but you can’t ask any questions,” Tobio warned. Yachi rolled her head to the other side.

“I promise,” she said. “Wait! Read it in your head.”

“Why?”

“Because you can do all the cool sound effects and music and everything! It’s so much better. You used to do it with the other books.”

Tobio rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. “Fine. No questions, though! If you don’t get it ask your dad, not me.”

“Okay, okay,” Yachi agreed. “I’m a good listener.”

Tobio took a deep breath and turned back a few pages. He hadn’t gotten that far in the first place so he didn’t mind rereading the first few chapters of the prologue. It was a fantasy book about mice who had an army and were going to start a war, or at least that’s what the cover led him to believe. There were some kanji he didn’t know, but he couldn’t let Yachi know that so he made up likely-sounding words in their place as fast as he could.

Yachi closed her eyes and hummed happily when he started, resting her chin on her hands and stilling her feet. Tobio’s eyes scanned over the book and, though he’d never admit it out loud, he tried to make it as engaging as possible in his head. He didn’t know a lot of music so that had been an exaggeration on Yachi’s part, but he could definitely do convincing voices.

It felt like a nice way to use his power, not boring like some of the tests, and they got through three whole chapters before someone came in and said that Yachi had to go eat dinner.

 

* * *

 

“You’re kidding me,” Ukai said incredulously, hackles rising. He sat uncomfortably in a leather chair, the only light in the office from the large windows ahead of him.

“Non-invasive testing isn’t giving any substantial results anymore,” Director Ushijima said sternly, looking considerably worse for wear. The escape was wringing him out. “It’s the next logical step, and the only one that’s going to get us closer to understanding anything.”

“He’s too valuable to compromise,” Ukai appealed thinly.

“If we can figure out how any of this works, then we can figure out how to engineer it for ourselves and that won’t matter, will it?”

“What if there’s no way to _engineer_ it? Then you’ve wasted the most valuable resource we’ve ever gotten ahold—”

“There are others,” Ushijima said, disturbed. “Oikawa Tooru, for one.”

“He’s not as powerful.”

“Magnitude is unimportant if we can understand the mechanics.”

Ukai closed his eyes and centered himself. “There’s still some testing we can do,” he said, “without any knives.”

“We’re not going to kill him,” Ushijima said slowly, shaking his head like it was obvious. “Is that what you’re worried about? We don’t do wasteful. You know that. Each asset is valuable and honestly, I’m beginning to think you might be emotionally compromised.”

Ukai stiffened. “I’m a scientist,” he said firmly.

“You’re human, I understand. And he looks like a little boy. But we both know he isn’t. He’s a powerful telepath who could make you kill yourself in the blink of an eye, raise your blood pressure until an aneurism leaves you paralyzed, make you cut off your own fingers one by one…”

Ukai’s jaw set and he swallowed. “I’m the senior researcher on this case.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so difficult,” Ushijima said, his lips forming a line, “But _I_ assigned you to that position.

“What I need to know is that, should we need to progress with invasive testing, you will be able to lead the team the same way you do now,” Ushijima continued. “This conversation is not making me very confident.”

Ukai bit his tongue. “I can do my job.”

“What if your job involves removing a section of his parietal lobe?” Ushijima probed, knowing it would provoke a reaction. Ukai smiled and was beginning to feel sick to his stomach.

“I can do my job,” he repeated, trying to sound like he meant it.

“You aren’t his father,” Ushijima said, but he seemed close to satisfied. “This is an opportunity we cannot waste with sentimentality.”

“I understand.”

Ushijima sat back in his chair and linked his hands over his stomach. “Good. You were a big investment. You haven’t disappointed me so far.”

Ukai stood and bowed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Dismissed.”

Ukai felt like a child being sent out of the principal’s office but he left quickly, mind racing and heart pushing up against his throat. His hands were shaking so he shoved them in his pockets and picked up his pace, heading straight past his office and down into the isolation wing.

The mindlock tingled as he passed through, and he knew that Tobio could sense him now. He let his head be empty, made the uncomfortable thoughts quiet, and walked more casually toward the playroom.

The door had a window, lightly barred with wire, and through it he could see Tobio and the little empath girl they sent in to keep him calm, Yachi Hitoka. They both sat at the small particle board table in the corner of the carpeted room. A book was perched on the table in front of Tobio.

He was reading, though silently, and Hitoka was sitting with her eyes closed, legs pumping back and forth absently. He was reading to her, Ukai realized. A twinge of fondness ran through him, immediately followed by sickening guilt, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep the bad thoughts down for much longer.

 _You’re a good friend_ , he thought to Tobio, who didn’t look up. He knew the boy could hear him, and that was enough, so he left.

 

* * *

 

Asahi had never experienced a tornado. Sendai was too close to the water and too hilly, and while elsewhere in Japan they might have one or two a year, he’d always thought they were a bit hard to understand. The idea that wind could be strong enough to splinter wood or bring down brick walls was beyond his imaginative ability.

Of course, that was until now.

There was that saying about the calm before the storm. The air felt thick with it, the calm. Nishinoya’s eyes became indistinguishable, green radiating from them like they were twin light bulbs, and he drifted into the air. It was like a breath being taken, and through his pounding heart and Iwaizumi’s frantic calls for backup Asahi felt a sort of profound silence.

Breath in.

Nishinoya’s hair stood up and his shirt billowed wildly.

Hold.

A roar from far down the street, rushing toward them like a jet. A thin tree by the side of the street a few hundred meters down the way pulled, bent, and snapped. Nishinoya’s chest puffed like it was pulled by a string. Asahi didn’t have time to react.

Out.

Nishinoya’s arms swung forward and it hit like a wall.

Asahi and Iwaizumi flew backwards and it felt like falling. The force of the wind was rough and painful against Asahi’s skin, cold but burning like sandpaper. There was nothing but the sound, deafening and all-encompassing. Asahi reeled and skittered like a leaf, heels dragging and then tripping him and then he was hitting the ground but instead of an impact with the sidewalk he felt the otherworldly push of air beneath him, lifting him. His hands struggled against the cuffs. He couldn’t keep his eyes open against the whipping air and something scratched his arm as it flew past.

There was a series of muffled pops—windows breaking. Asahi called out and he wasn’t even sure what he said. He was lifted fully off the ground and then pulled into the air, and he squinted against the abrasive wind. His hair whipped around his head and his jacket was nearly pulled from his body. His stomach dropped as he looked down, nearly three meters up and rising.

Nishinoya’s hands were palm-up and his fingers were curled like claws, pushing the wind up and around and Asahi felt very, very small. Iwaizumi’s form fought against the wind but he was like a ragdoll in its grasp. His gun was ripped from his hands and pulled up and away by the strap, which caught under Iwaizumi’s chin like a noose. He struggled but there was no way he could ever overcome it, not when it could pick Asahi up like he was made of feathers. Then, with little fanfare, Iwaizumi jerked and slammed into the brick of the same wall he’d stood Asahi up against. He crumpled, body pulled by the wind and sliding across the asphalt.

“Nishinoya!” Asahi cried, but it was lost. He tried to breathe in but the wind just whipped by his mouth instead of into it, and he began to gasp. The treetops shook and waved like they did in news stories about hurricanes.

Nishinoya wasn’t there, not really. His head was cast back and he stared sightlessly into the sky, all green and light and limp in the air. His face was pulled into a grimace and the sleeve of his shirt that wasn’t rolled to the elbow fluttered. His skin looked ready to crack from the blinding light pushing out through his pores and fingers and ears.

His back hit something—the leaves of a tree. It was a bit sturdier than the one that had cracked down the street but it was still bent at an unnatural angle, leaves shaking and branches scraping across Asahi’s back. Then, without warning, he jerked forward, then side to side, around like a sock in the dryer.

A cool tendril of air brushed down his arms and curled around his hands, and suddenly the handcuffs were jerked back, wrenching Asahi’s shoulder. He grunted and tried to pull his arms back down, but the wind held them there for a moment before the thin line of air darted past his hand and there was a click.

The handcuffs pulled off of one wrist and he brought his arms forward, trying to stabilize himself in the air. He flipped head over heels. Asahi managed to get enough air into his lungs to scream again, fighting the roar as he pitched and dropped and then lifted again. “Nishinoya! Stop!” he tried, because there wasn’t anything else he could say.

At the same time, another voice joined him, raw and desperate and so blindly terrified it made Asahi’s own throat catch.

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa stood in the street, eyes wide and horrified. He was in street clothes, a winter coat and khakis, and he looked positively _normal_. Asahi pitched and fell as the wind stuttered, and it caught him again just before he hit the ground. His feet touched down but it was still too much destabilizing force so he tripped and slid back, jacket sliding down to his elbows. He landed on his tailbone and almost awkwardly on his hands, which wouldn’t have ended well for their bones.

When he looked up he could see Nishinoya, but his head was no longer cast back. Glowing and smoking an unearthly green, his eyes were focused behind Asahi. His mouth was open and his face was blank.

“Don’t move,” Oikawa said, voice hushed and trembling. The wind died to a breeze, and Nishinoya remained in the air, motionless and watching. It had only been a few minutes but it felt like the wind had been there forever, its absence like returning back to Earth.

Oikawa stepped forward, past Asahi like he wasn’t even there, and Asahi’s heart lurched.

“Wait,” he said, but there was no response. He got to his knees and stood quickly, ignoring the ache in his hip where it had scraped the ground and the dull pain in his stomach and head. But Oikawa didn’t make any moves toward Nishinoya.

He dropped to his knees by Iwaizumi’s motionless form, and Asahi could see his hands shaking as he quickly worked to untangle the gun strap from his neck, being careful not to move it very much. Long fingers went immediately for the pulse point against Iwaizumi’s throat and stayed there.

If the calm before the wind had been thick, this quiet was _tangible_. Iwaizumi must have been alive because Oikawa’s head ducked, and he murmured into what must have been another comm on his own collar.

“Number four down, requesting extraction. Med evac.”

Asahi watched as Oikawa sat, quiet and, for the first time, looking very small. Asahi’s eyes flicked to Nishinoya and saw the light fading from his eyes and skin. Nishinoya’s eyes drooped and Asahi tensed, dashing forward just as he began to slump, green light receding. He reached Nishinoya just in time to catch him under his arms before he collapsed. The other man’s head fell against his chest and he shifted his grasp, pulling Nishinoya into what was almost a hug. 

Oikawa was watching them, eyes unreadable but sharp. Asahi felt the creeping dread fill him. The way Oikawa’s hands threaded absently through Iwaizumi’s hair wasn’t professional, wasn’t military. Neither was the fact that he looked like he was going to throw up, shaking with the effort it took to stay calm, or the way he was so, so quiet.

Oikawa seemed to care about Iwaizumi, and Asahi felt sure that he was about to be killed.

But the intrusion into his mind never came, or at least not in the way Asahi expected. Nishinoya was limp in his arms but moving slightly, trying to keep himself up on his feet. He was awake, but only barely, when the single message entered their minds, quiet and immovable.

 _Go away_.

Oikawa stared at them, eyes burning, and Asahi’s stomach turned painfully, like he’d been stricken with the flu. He heard Nishinoya groan lightly into his chest and he had to leave now. He looked around and it was dark but he had to leave. He had to leave he had to leave he had to leave he

“What, are you paralyzed?” Oikawa hissed suddenly, malice strained. “Go the fuck away!”

Asahi pulled Nishinoya up and onto his back and ran.

 

* * *

 

Yamaguchi hadn’t made breakfast for himself in more than a year, but he found himself once again in the kitchen at eight in the morning with a pan of scrambled tofu and two cups of coffee, the tile cold on his bare feet and his eyes still full of sleep.

If Tsukishima weren’t asleep on his couch he’d have no reason to believe that any of the past week had happened. But every time he woke up in the morning or came home from class Tsukki was still there, wearing a too-small pair of glasses and looking entirely like a ghost. Yamaguchi had found the glasses in a case underneath the far corner of his bed three months after the funeral and hadn’t had the heart to throw out. Tsukishima watched a lot of TV and slept a lot, and for the most part he wasn’t particularly conversational.

There were no self-help books about this, about how to chat casually with the person whose death you mourned, cried over, worked through. Eventually got over. Yamaguchi had come to terms with the loss of Tsukishima and life had gone on. He’d done well enough in school to get into an okay college and his parents had decided to move into Tokyo and he’d made new friends and gone home with boys and stayed up late doing calculus and none of it made any sense with Tsukishima back in the picture.

He desperately wanted to say something, to figure out where they were. Tsukishima had been very enigmatic about what he’d been up to for the years he’d been away, but he’d let things slip that gave Yamaguchi the sinking feeling that whatever he’d been doing, it hadn’t been voluntary. He’d been fifteen when he’d died—no, Yamaguchi sighed sharply— _disappeared_ , and what could a straight-laced, quiet, smart boy have gotten himself into?

There was the matter of his power as well, if Yamaguchi still believed that it existed. He knew that at one point he’d believed in it completely. There were times when Tsukishima had just _known_ , known that something was wrong or asked Yamaguchi whether something good had happened without even talking to him, or looking at him. There were times when Tsukki was angry and Yamaguchi could have sworn he felt it too, acute and dynamic and always appearing out of nowhere.

Yamaguchi knew that at some point in middle school or early high school Tsukishima had figured out his crush. He hadn’t done a particularly good job of hiding it, not from someone like Tsukki. It was a small, delicate thing, the first time Yamaguchi had ever let himself admit that he was into boys at all. Maybe he’d gotten excited. But that had been another thing that he’d worked through, the loss of something that had never even existed, and he was over it.

But now he was all mixed up and disoriented. He wasn’t sure how much he’d changed as a person but Tsukishima seemed so much the same and-

A few minutes past eight Tsukki wandered into the kitchen, wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt with a Hatsune Miku decal on it that Yamaguchi had been given as a joke gift, and for all that he was taller now it could have been a picture from middle school, the morning after a sleepover, getting ready to leave for school. It made Yamaguchi’s heart ache, and he couldn’t tell if it was unpleasant or not.

“Morning,” he said, putting on a smile and pushing some tofu off of the pan and onto a plate. Tsukishima sat at the small table and slumped back in the chair.

“Good morning,” he replied, voice rough. He cleared his throat and put his hands on the table, fidgeting.

 “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Silence. Then, “Any plans for the day?”

“I might go for a walk.”

Yamaguchi hated this. This was how the morning before had gone, quiet and surface-level and infuriatingly polite. He wanted something but he wasn’t sure what that was. He wanted quips and sarcasm. He could return some of it, now.

“It’s not the same,” Tsukishima said suddenly, as though he had read Yamaguchi’s mind.

Yamaguchi turned with the two plates, sliding one across the table to Tsukishima and placing one in front of his own chair. “What?”

“It feels different,” Tsukki said, wrinkling his nose and squinting at Yamaguchi.

“What does?” Yamaguchi sat.

“This. You. Everything.” Tsukishima reached under one sleeve to scratch at his shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to be the same, but—” he opened his mouth to continue but whatever word he’d had in mind next seemed to have disappeared. Yamaguchi took a bite of his tofu and wondered if Tsukishima could feel his unease. No, he definitely could. Maybe that was part of why he was so hesitant. There was no way to tell.

“It’s been a while,” Yamaguchi said, trying for a smile. “If things didn’t change I’d be worried.”

“You used to be happy when you saw me,” Tsukishima said plainly, and that was another way he was different now. Fifteen-year-old Tsukki would never say something as direct as that, would just let that kind of thought stew. Yamaguchi put down his fork, suddenly queasy.

“I’m happy to see you,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.

“I know,” Tsukishima said, a bitter smile flattening his lips. He let out a small breath and cocked his head a bit to the side. “I mean, I don’t expect…I just…”

“It’s like we have to meet each other again,” Yamaguchi offered, something he’d been trying to put words to for the past few days. “We’re different people now.”

“I imagined seeing you again,” Tsukishima said, eyes boring holes into Yamaguchi. “Every day. The whole time I was gone. I imagined what it would feel like.”

Yamaguchi picked up his fork again and pushed his hair back with his other hand. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance.”

Tsukishima frowned at his plate. “It’s so stupid.” He lowered his head and rubbed at his eye. “Ugh, goddammit.”

Yamaguchi tensed. “What?”

“I know you’re upset and I could help, but not in the way you want.”

Yamaguchi’s brain turned that over and then his eyes widened. “You know you can always stay here,” he said quickly. “Even if it’s weird for a while, you don’t have to…”

“Where would I go?” Tsukishima asked with a small smile that just for a second reminded Yamaguchi of the normal Tsukki, the teenager made of brains and sarcasm. “That’s not what I mean.”

Oh. Yamaguchi blinked and then understood, or thought he did. “Your… _thing_.”

“I could make you feel anything you wanted,” Tsukishima said, lips pressed bitterly. “I’ve gotten better at it. I had to.”

Another cryptic snippet of information. Yamaguchi took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat. “Why?”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“Why did you have to get better?” Yamaguchi asked, trying to hold Tsukishima’s stare. Eventually shyness got the better of him and he looked away, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“I can tell you,” Tsukishima offered. “You just wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Yamaguchi said.

Tsukishima watched him for a long time, and it was a gaze that Yamaguchi was very familiar with. It was his thinking face, the one he put on when he couldn’t decide something. Tsukishima, at least the one from high school, would sometimes shut down when he didn’t know what to do. He’d get that thinking face and it would freeze in place, hiding the discomfort or, in the worst case, panic, behind a steel cage of intensity. Most people withered and Tsukishima was let off the hook.

Tsukishima swallowed and suddenly the mask broke. He furrowed his brow and looked down, eyes searching the table. He opened his mouth to speak but winced instead and shook his head. “Okay, that’s weird.” He looked perplexed. “Maybe another time.”

“What’s wrong?” Yamaguchi asked.

“I can think about it,” Tsukishima said slowly. “That’s fine, whatever. But when I started to…when I tried to turn it into _words_ …it just…” He gave the table a skeptical look and gestured inarticulately with his hands. “ _Weird_. It was worse. Than just thinking about it.” He sighed sharply. “I’m not making any sense. Don’t listen to me.”

Yamaguchi ached with curiosity and unsettled sympathy. He stretched his hand out across the table, palm up, watching Tsukki’s eyes. Tsukishima regarded the hand for a long moment, glancing up questioningly at Yamaguchi, before he slowly placed his own on top. Yamaguchi closed his fingers around Tsukishima’s hand tightly, rubbing his thumb lightly against its back.

“It was bad? Whatever it was?”

“It was distinctly not great,” Tsukishima said, eyes glued to their hands, connected on the cool tabletop.

“I’m sorry,” Yamaguchi said.

Tsukishima let out a breath. “You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I’m sorry for.”

“I don’t get to complain,” Tsukishima said oddly. “I had it easy.”

“Obviously not,” Yamaguchi murmured. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Tsukishima snorted. “Is this _Chicken Soup for the Hostage’s Soul_?”

Yamaguchi took the word ‘hostage’ and filed it away, but his face didn’t change. He squeezed Tsukishima’s hand and then looked up at him, venturing a small smile.

It was like the world sprang into color. Yamaguchi froze, eyes widening, watching Tsukishima’s face and something in his chest was pulling him, like a rope coiled around his torso, tightness in his lungs. At the same time it was warm and light and he felt so thick with it he might explode. The aura surrounded him and tied his throat into a knot and it sat right in that sweet spot between hurting and elation.

It had come on so suddenly it didn’t even feel real, and he knew what the aching was. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly been in love, but he’d felt this before, smaller and more delicate but still the same, and—

“Tsukki,” he said, not sure if it was a warning or a plea for help.

Tsukishima blinked and then his eyes shot wide. He snatched his hand away and slid back in his chair, the legs squeaking against the floor. Away with him slipped the feeling.

The removal of the emotions was almost more devastating than their appearance, and Yamaguchi felt like he’d been dropped with no one to catch him. His hand on the table curled and then relaxed like it was exhausted. He slumped a little, mouth slightly agape, and watched Tsukishima.

“I apologize,” Tsukishima said formally, eyes closed. “I can usually control it, but when…” He pressed his lips together. “When I’m tired it’s hard and sometimes I project. It won’t happen again.”

Yamaguchi’s chest felt like an empty cave and he just stared. “It’s okay,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “Don’t worry about it. Have you been sleeping?”

Tsukishima didn’t answer. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap. Yamaguchi looked down at his tofu, now probably cold, and let out a sigh. “I’m not upset.”

“I know,” Tsukishima said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I know _everything_ you feel. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Does it bother _you_?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Yes,” Tsukishima said simply. He huffed out a laugh. “It just makes everything worse.”

Yamaguchi’s fingers were still tingling with the overwhelming emotion, and in a strange way he missed it. He’d only had it for a few seconds but now it was like something essential was gone. He wanted it again. He realized with a start that he wanted it back very, very badly.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“Me too,” Tsukishima replied, and Yamaguchi's chest ached.

 

* * *

 

Two broken ribs, concussion, shattered kneecap, cracked collarbone. His spine was untouched and the concussion was minor, which meant that he would be okay. He didn’t come to for several hours, hours that Oikawa spent ignoring everyone else, motionless by the narrow hospital bed in the infirmary.

He was really waiting for the other shoe to drop. The first sting had been misguided and he couldn’t be blamed for its failure, but this time he’d had Nishinoya, vulnerable after an event, and he’d _told_ him to leave.

Another part of him was seething, cold. He didn’t know Iwaizumi would be alone. Maybe he’d been caught off-guard, but there was no way one unpowered person could take on an esper, let alone the most volatile escapee there was. They’d given Iwaizumi the go-ahead once he’d sighted Nishinoya and Oikawa had the sneaking feeling it wasn’t because they thought he could capture him.

Iwaizumi was already too stubborn for his own good, but he wasn’t a decoy. Oikawa wouldn’t let them make him into one, even if it meant keeping him at home to stew. He’d have to remind his COs that if they wanted their underhanded blackmail to work in the first place Iwaizumi would have to be alive. You can’t threaten to kill someone who’s already dead.

It would be so sweet, Oikawa thought, to be able to reach into that goddamn Ushijima’s head and break it. Curl into every crevice and make him fall apart before he killed himself, slow and painful. Oikawa would humiliate him and dismantle him and throw him on his own sword.

But as long as Iwaizumi was alive (and he certainly planned on keeping it that way), he was stuck.

Iwaizumi groaned and shifted, eyes opening to a grim squint. Oikawa’s heart leaped but he tried to appear casual as he leaned in.

“Morning, sleeping ugly.”

“Ugh.” Iwaizumi winced as he took a deeper breath, the bandages on his chest restricting too much movement. “Am I in hell?”

“You’re alive, unfortunately,” Oikawa said in mock seriousness, falling back into a more comfortable, controlled persona.

“Oh, good,” Iwaizumi said, wrinkling his nose. “I was worried I’d have to spend eternity in the afterlife with you.”

Relief flooded through Oikawa even as he gasped, all drama, and put a hand over his heart. “Hajime! I’m hurt.”

“What’s the damage?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes shifting darker.

Oikawa’s scandalized offense faded to a pensive gaze at the ceiling. He counted on his fingers: “Hm…well, there’s your knee, your ribs, your concussion, your shoulder…”

“What happened?”

Oikawa didn’t speak for a moment. “You know you can’t go up against an esper,” he said thinly.

“What, you think I have a death wish?” Iwaizumi asked incredulously. “I was taking in the companion. Azumane. I didn’t know they were close enough to initiate any kind of meltdown.”

“It just makes everything so much more annoying,” Oikawa pouted.

“Even more so, now that they’ve slipped away again.”

Oikawa wasn’t going to comment on that. There was no way to know who was listening. He brought up a hand and carded it lightly through Iwaizumi’s hair. “I did hear something interesting, though.”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes at the touch and Oikawa’s chest hurt a little. “What’s that?”

“I have no clue why, but Nishinoya was thinking something about going back to Aoba Johsai.”

Iwaizumi sighed and his eyes opened to a squint. “Why? Turning himself in?”

“Tobio-chan, I think.”

“You’re kidding,” Iwaizumi said, trying to sit up a little. Oikawa gave him a look and he stopped, settling back down. “They’re going to try and get him.”

“I don’t know if it’s _they_ ,” Oikawa said, looking up at the ceiling. He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “He could have been acting alone. I mean, it’s _probably_ a ‘they’ situation, since he was with the others beforehand. But is that enough to try and count on intercepting them here? Probably not.”

“We don’t know when they could show up. If they show up. We need intel and a plan.”

“Of course,” Oikawa said. “ _We’ll_ put together a plan, and _you’ll_ sleep.”

Iwaizumi had the nerve to look offended at that. “I need to be at any tactical meetings.”

“You, mister, have a concussion, and will not be doing any more thinking today.” Oikawa waggled his finger back and forth, ending with a bop on the end of Iwaizumi’s nose.

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to protest, anger flashing in his eyes, but Oikawa just smiled, leaned forward, and planted a little kiss on the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth.

“Sleep, Iwa-chan,” he murmured, “We need you healthy.”

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi hissed, bringing his good arm up and pulling Oikawa’s head in again for a second, more serious kiss. It was firm and strong and Oikawa did his best not to melt into it. He put a hand to the side of Iwaizumi’s face and pressed hard against Iwaizumi’s lips, wishing not for the first time that they could just have one day together without work, without this sort of danger. Alone, anywhere, just the two of them. They could be doing anything—sex, of course, wouldn’t be terrible, but even just sitting around, quiet, would be worth it. It had been a very, very long time since they were really alone, and Oikawa burned with it.

Without thought his fingers travelled to the base of Iwaizumi’s skull, running his finger delicately over the small, foreign bump that sat under the skin, unassuming enough that you could barely feel it if you didn’t know it was there. It used to make him feel helpless but now it just made him angry.

“I love you,” Oikawa said quietly when they broke apart. “Now get some rest before I break your other collarbone.”

“Love you too, mother,” Iwaizumi said.

“Hmph!” Oikawa smiled flightily and got up from his chair. “Well, I’ve got to go debrief with Ushiwaka,” he said, flipping his hand. “You’ll be doing the same later. We’d better tell the same lies!”

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi said again, trying to adjust his shoulders in the bed but wincing when he moved the broken one. Oikawa blew a kiss and then left, his light smile persisting until he crossed the threshold of the infirmary and stepped into the hallway.

He closed the door and stood there for a moment, staring deeply into the middle distance as his left hand clenched and unclenched absently. He had several topics of varying importance that he would have to address when he met with the director, each requiring its own level of finessing. One, keep Iwaizumi out of any more scrapes with psychics. Two, explain how Nishinoya and his new pet action hero had gotten away for a third time. Three, figure out some way to frame a Tobio-rescue ambush as a convincing plan of action.

Maybe he could even engineer the capture of the escapees before Iwaizumi recovered enough to go back to work.

Maybe they’d all just get themselves killed and save him the hassle. Hard choice. He sighed sharply, brushed his hair off of his forehead, and started for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Nishinoya slid off of Asahi’s back and Asahi propped him against the wall of the parking garage he’d ducked into, out of breath from the run and the wind and the everything. He looked sickly in the orange light and he was breathing heavily, staring with drooped eyelids at Asahi’s feet. Asahi crouched in front of him and the handcuffs dangling from his wrist clinked against the concrete.

“What the hell was that?” he asked helplessly. He could feel the nasty underpinnings of a panic attack curling high in his chest and he swallowed. Now was not the time. Nishinoya slowly met his eyes, body shaking with each breath.

“Fuck,” he said simply. He squeezed his eyes shut and started to list to one side. Asahi grabbed his shoulders and righted him against the wall. His body was so small in Asahi’s hands and Asahi tried to focus on that, on the physical world, not letting himself get caught up in his own head. “I’m sorry.”

Asahi laughed, surprising himself. Nishinoya let his head fall against the brick wall and he smiled with closed lips. “Well, now you know why my life fucking sucks without Tsukki,” he said breathily.

“Where did you think you were going?” Asahi asked incredulously.

“Why did you follow me?” Nishinoya countered. “You know where I was going.”

“I was really, really hoping I was wrong.”

“Well,” Nishinoya said with a sigh. “You weren’t. Because I’m a dumbass. Grade A, jumbo dumbass. Not news.”

Asahi rubbed at his face with an open palm and sat with some effort. “Okay, well, we’re here now.”

Nishinoya’s eyes sudden shot wide. “Wait, we need to go back. We need to warn the others.”

“If there’s any chance that they didn’t find the safehouse yet then we don’t want to lead them to it.”

“But—”

“They have Tanaka, right?” Asahi said, trying to control his breathing. “We’re okay.”

“Okay?” Nishinoya said a little too loudly. “I just almost killed you, because I can’t control my own fucking _emotions_ , which might be fine if I were a normal person but is pretty inconvenient when instead I make a whole fucking _tornado_.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Well, it would’ve gotten worse if Oikawa hadn’t shown up.”

Asahi looked at Nishinoya funny. “Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?”

Nishinoya kicked at Asahi ineffectively. “Before they took Tsukishima in they tried to use Oikawa to control my shit. It didn’t work very well, _obviously_ , but he can calm me down if I’m not that far gone.”

“Did that count as not that far gone?” Asahi asked skeptically, raising his eyebrows and feeling around the handcuff.

“It gets way worse,” Nishinoya said, a little quieter. “If I let it go. Like people-dying worse.”

“So,” Asahi said, “you decided to go alone. Obviously the best option.”

“Okay, mister sass-master,” Nishinoya said, rolling his eyes. “We established that I’m a dumbass.” He was quiet and then sighed sharply. “Anyway, where I was planning on going I don’t think it would have been an issue.”

“Killing people. Not an issue.”

“You know what? Fuck you.”

Asahi winced and looked up at the concrete ceiling, pleading. “Look. You can’t save anyone if you get hurt too,” he appealed.

Nishinoya shrugged jerkily, staring resolutely to his left. “Can’t save anyone sitting here, either.” He adjusted his position against the wall. Suddenly he hissed and his hand flew down to his ankle. “Jesus Christ.”

Asahi had forgotten. “You put it through a lot,” he said, taking Nishinoya’s calf carefully and pulling to straighten the boy’s leg. Nishinoya’s face was pulled in pain but he didn’t say anything. “It was probably already sprained.”

“I didn’t feel it so much before,” Nishinoya mumbled. “Motherfucker.”

“Don’t move it,” Asahi said, looking around and wishing he’d remembered to grab his backpack. “We need to find something to wrap it with.”

He held Nishinoya’s ankle immobile and carefully slid off his shoe, doing his best to ignore how his hands were shaking. It was one of those annoying, physical anxiety attacks, where his body hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that his brain had moved on.

There was a sharp bang and Asahi flinched hard, chest jolting. He looked up and braced himself, staring down the deserted rows of cars. There was nothing there. His breath caught in his throat and in his mind’s eye he saw Oikawa walking down the aisle, stepping within range, reaching into his head.

“A car door,” Nishinoya said, grabbing Asahi’s shoulder and shaking it lightly, and Asahi floated back down to Earth. He let out a thin breath and closed his eyes, covering half of his face with his hand.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I get it.”

“Shit, I left my medication in the apartment,” Asahi hissed. He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I was going to run out anyway.”

“What happens then?” Nishinoya asked cautiously.

“It’s fine. I’m just not as fun to be around,” Asahi said, mind already running. They had to figure out where they were, where they could go, what they had to do now.

“Honestly you should just let me go,” Nishinoya said. “This’ll just happen again and it might as well be inside Seijoh.”

Asahi’s eyes snapped up, suddenly fiery. “Not going to happen.”

“Look, I’m dangerous alone,” Nishinoya said tiredly.

“Great, well,” Asahi said, trying to sound confident, “good thing you aren’t alone.”

“Okay, no offense,” Nishinoya said, fingers absently feeling around his ankle, “but there’s not much you can do. What if I have a meltdown? There’s no way to stop one of those unless you kill me.”

“Do we have any idea where that Tsukishima person is?” Asahi asked, pointedly ignoring Nishinoya’s challenging tone.

“Nope,” Nishinoya said. “He could be in fucking… _Finland_ , for all we know.” He shivered violently and cursed. “Also, it is two degrees out here and I’m going to freeze to death before we find anybody.”

Asahi shrugged off his jacket and Nishinoya whined. “That’s not what I meant. Come on, put it back on.”

“I don’t get cold very easily,” Asahi said firmly. Nishinoya rolled his eyes and leaned away from the wall so Asahi could drape the jacket over his shoulders. “Besides, it looks better on you.”

Nishinoya wiggled so the jacket fully covered him, and he started to tug on the zipper, arms tucked in the body instead of the sleeves. “Fine,” he said petulantly, but some of the fire in him had faded. “Zip me.”

Asahi complied, zipping the jacket all the way to the neck at Nishinoya’s prompting. He looked ridiculous but grimly satisfied, sitting back against the wall and hunching his shoulders so the jacket covered his mouth and part of his nose.

“Well, everything sucks but at least I’m cozy as fuck.”

Asahi laughed in earnest then, something small and warm sparking in his chest. Nishinoya examined the parking garage with narrowed eyes, which was all of his face that was really visible. He stopped on Asahi’s face after a moment.

“Stop that,” he said.

Asahi blinked. “What?”

“Staring at me like a creep.”

“What else am I going to be looking at?” Asahi asked, willing down the twinge of embarrassment that shot through him.

Nishinoya shrugged and nuzzled further down into Asahi’s jacket. He murmured something that Asahi didn’t quite catch before lifting his mouth out of the warm cocoon and repeating himself.

“You should know that I’m going to try to get them out no matter what,” he said. “Whether or not you or anyone else comes with me. And you’re not going to be able to talk me out of it.”

“Okay,” Asahi said. Nishinoya looked from side to side like he was missing something.

“I mean it,” he continued.

“I’m sure you do,” Asahi said. He shook his head and laughed a little under his breath. “Looks like they know who I am, now. Not very many places I can go.”

The thought was claustrophobic and terrifying, but with it came a sense of sudden purpose. Not only had they known his name and the fact that he was on the run, but Iwaizumi had seemed to know where he and the others were hiding. Maybe it hadn’t been the most secure of hiding spots but it didn’t feel like too much of a stretch for Iwaizumi and whoever was working with him and Oikawa at Seijoh to find Asahi, even if he went to Tokyo and beyond. Getting there in the first place might be a challenge, if there were eyes in as many places as there appeared to be.

“You’re not going to go in with me,” Nishinoya said, and it wasn’t so much a statement as a question. “You’re unpowered.”

“Sugawara-san doesn’t have any powers, does he? And he still helped you get out. Also,” Asahi raised his eyebrows, “you can’t walk.”

“I was running before, didn’t you see?” Nishinoya said, eyebrows shooting up to match Asahi’s.

“Now and before are different times,” Asahi said.

“Okay, I mean,” Nishinoya shrugged, “I’m not going to stop you. You might as well come along. The more the merrier.”

“Great,” Asahi said, and he could feel the future narrowing. It wasn’t necessarily bad—with it came a strange, motivating sense of purpose. “Let’s go break some kids out of superpower jail. But first,” he held up a finger, “Food and sleep.”

“We can’t waste time,” Nishinoya said, a bit disturbed.

“If you think that sleeping and eating are wasting time…” Asahi started. He pressed his lips together and let out a breath. “Okay, either way, we’re not going to spend the night in here.” He stood and held out a hand. Nishinoya looked at it, then down at his body, arms hidden in the body of the jacket.

“I can’t walk,” he said. “I am a sausage.”

Asahi rolled his eyes and reached down, scooping Nishinoya up off the wall and into a bridal-style hold. Nishinoya made a noise of complaint and wiggled unhappily.

“Not the plan! I was making a joke! Down.”

Asahi let him down with some effort, trying to keep him upright as he struggled and tried to stay steady on one foot. “Fine. Have it your way.” He unzipped the jacket enough for Nishinoya to get his arms out and undo the rest.

Nishinoya pushed his arms through the holes of the jacket. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and made a harsh whining noise in the back of his throat for about a second before meeting Asahi’s eyes and frowning deeply. “Okay, this is the only time you are ever going to hear this, but please carry me, my ankle is literally going to kill me.” He paused. “Thanks.”

Another of those warm sparks flared in Asahi’s chest and he smiled despite himself. “Alright, hop on.”

Then, Nishinoya on his back, Asahi made for the opposite entrance of the freezing car park.


	5. Penguins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asahi decides that Nishinoya needs to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Siri, what is a motorcycle?

Asahi had some money but it wouldn’t last very long. They avoided the bigger streets—still crowded even at the late hour—and ducked into a hotel that advertised suspiciously low prices and the option to pay by the hour. Asahi didn’t think much of it, helping Nishinoya hobble over to the elevator after getting a key from a desk with a tiny hole in it for money. He hadn’t even seen the receptionist’s face, though he conceded that the fewer people who saw them the better.

When they got up to their room it was almost four in the morning, but at least there was a bed. Asahi sighed deeply as the door closed behind them. The room was fine, very small, one large bed. A television on the wall hung above a small fridge.

“We sleep, then we make a plan,” Asahi said. Exhaustion had been clawing at him for the entire walk, and he wondered if he’d gotten more than three hours of sleep at a time for the past few days. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy.

When he turned to Nishinoya he saw that the other man was stopped in the doorway, a conspiratorial sort of awe pulling at the corners of his mouth as he gaped at the room. His hands were lost in the sleeves of Asahi’s jacket. Asahi still had his shoes.

“Karasu-san,” he started, eyes flashing, “Is this a _love hotel?”_

Asahi blinked, annoying heat rising in his face and neck. “We don’t have room to be picky,” he said.

“I’ve never actually been inside one!” Nishinoya said in wonder. He hobbled forward, looking around like he’d just entered the Taj Mahal. “Do you think there’s porn on the TV?”

Asahi sputtered and decided it was time to change the subject. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the bed. Nishinoya raised his eyebrows.

“I like a man who takes charge,” he said appreciatively, but he made his way to the bed and sat with a dramatic thump, bouncing a little bit. Asahi’s eyes rolled so hard they hurt.

“Are these mood swings normal?” Asahi asked tiredly as he knelt in front of Nishinoya and lifted his ankle delicately. It was considerably wider than an ankle normally was, puffed and bruised around the side and toward his heel. The handcuffs still hung from one of Asahi’s wrists. He’d have to learn how to pick locks.

“Gotta cope somehow,” Nishinoya said, flashing some finger guns at Asahi and grinning. “Whatcha doing down there?”

“If we want any chance at a rescue you need to be able to walk,” Asahi said. He turned Nishinoya’s foot carefully and then nodded toward the headboard. “Sit up there.”

Nishinoya obediently scooched back, propping a pillow behind him and crossing his hands over his stomach. “Yes sir, Dr. Karasu.”

Asahi was too tired to respond wittily. He looked around the room for something to wrap Nishinoya’s ankle with, eyes eventually settling on the second pillow. He crossed to the other side of the bed, sitting a little sideways and sliding the pillow out of its case.

“Up,” he said. Nishinoya lifted his leg and Asahi slid the naked pillow under his foot. Then he took the pillowcase, looked at it for a long second, and ripped it with some effort along one of the outside seams. Nishinoya yelped in surprise.

Asahi’s face screwed up a little as he pulled at the fabric again. At first he thought it might be a little too strong for him, but then the fabric gave and he ripped a strip of cloth down the side. Nishinoya watched him in alarm.

“Shit,” he said.

“I’ll pay for it if I have to,” Asahi said.

“Not what I was saying ‘shit’ to but okay,” Nishinoya replied.

Asahi ripped a couple more strips of fabric and then carefully began to wrap them around Nishinoya’s ankle. He realized just as he was pulling the fabric strip up and around the bottom of Nishinoya’s foot that he had no actual idea what he was doing, but he was in too deep to say that. Nishinoya regarded him with interest as he tied together the pillowcase pieces and pulled them snugly around his ankle from every angle Asahi could get.

“Too tight?” he asked.

“Nah,” Nishinoya said softly.

Asahi looked up at Nishinoya, who was watching him a bit funnily. “Are you okay?”

Nishinoya smiled and nodded. “Super sleepy,” he said.

“We’ll sleep soon,” Asahi said. He tied off the ends of the fabric strips because he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. Then he got up off the bed, reaching down to open the mini fridge. It was a long shot, and it didn’t work out in his favor. The fridge was empty.

“Thirsty?” Nishinoya asked.

“Looking for something cold,” Asahi explained, closing the fridge and sitting back at the foot of the bed. “For your ankle.”

“Thanks,” Nishinoya said. Asahi turned to him. “For fixing me up. Again.”

“A little self-preservation is all I ask,” Asahi said, but it was mostly a joke. “You’re not Sawamura.”

 “Are you actually going to go with me?” Nishinoya asked lightly. “To Aoba Johsai?”

“If you’re going,” Asahi said. “Someone’s got to keep you alive.”

Nishinoya took in an audible breath and then a small, uncharacteristically internal smile floated onto his face. “Okay. Just checking.”

“Sleep time,” Asahi said before he had time to think through what he was committing himself to.

“Thank god,” Nishinoya breathed, sliding down the bed a bit and covering his head with the pillow. He was still wearing Asahi’s jacket but if he was going to be on top of the blanket it might be good for him to have it anyway, Asahi thought.

Asahi turned out the light and crawled into his side of the bed, letting out an involuntary groan as he let his body relax. He felt like crying and laughing at the same time, but decided that being unconscious would be a better use of time.

“Wait, do you have a pillow?” Nishinoya asked.

“Go to sleep,” Asahi murmured instead of answering. He was already too close to sleep to move. Nishinoya made a squeaky noise of displeasure but didn’t push it. “G’night.”

Nishinoya huffed out a laugh. “Good night.”

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima had been avoiding him.

Not physically, of course, because for the most part Tsukki didn’t leave Yamaguchi’s house and it wasn’t large enough to put that much distance between them at any given time. The avoidance was verbal, emotional. Tsukishima wouldn’t talk to him.

They did speak. About silly things—the weather, how they slept. But Tsukishima wouldn’t _talk_ to him.

It was definitely worse than if they would just acknowledge the elephant in the room. Yamaguchi was unstable and confused when it came to Tsukishima, but he knew that the blinding, overwhelming emotions that had overtaken him hadn’t been his own. That meant that they were Tsukishima’s, and while Yamaguchi didn’t know quite how to parse that he was already tired of the tension between them. They just had to get more comfortable with each other first. Then more pointed conversations could happen, but until then they weren’t going to make any progress.

“I’m going to watch a movie,” Yamaguchi said at about ten o’clock two days after the fateful breakfast. Common ground, that was the goal.

“Have fun,” Tsukishima said, eyes firmly stuck to the book in his hands.

“Would you like to join me?” Yamaguchi asked.

“What movie?” Tsukishima asked, glancing up.

“I was thinking Jurassic Park,” Yamaguchi offered. It wasn’t his favorite movie by any means, but he knew that Tsukki liked it. He’d watched it enough when they were in middle school that he probably still knew it by heart.

“I’m okay,” Tsukishima said, looking back to the book. “Thanks.”

“It’s just watching a movie,” Yamaguchi said, giving up the pretense. “I don’t want to talk or anything. Just the movie.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything for a second. “I want to finish this,” he finally replied, nodding to the book. “Maybe next time.”

Yamaguchi bit his tongue and sighed. “Okay. Well, I’ll be in the living room watching it if you want to join.”

Tsukishima grunted and Yamaguchi wanted to pull his hair out. Maybe he just needed to wait for Tsukki to come to him. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he wouldn’t ever _be_ ready if Yamaguchi didn’t push him. It was all so frustrating.

But Yamaguchi went into the living room like he’d said, searched for a free stream of the movie on the least sketchy site he could find, and turned out the lights. Maybe it would be less intimidating for Tsukishima to join if it was dark. Maybe Tsukishima actually just wanted to finish his book and Yamaguchi would have to watch a whole movie about dinosaurs in the dark by himself.

About forty-five minutes into the movie Yamaguchi considered giving up. There had been no movement from the kitchen, not even to adjust a chair or get some water. Tsukishima was very good at forgetting that he inhabited a physical body when he was focused, whether it was on homework or a TV show or a video game. There were many times Yamaguchi could remember being called to dinner and watching Tsukishima unfold himself after a motionless two hours of studying only to get light-headed and plop back down onto the bed when he tried to stand.

But then he heard, over the sounds of people whispering to a dying triceratops, soft footsteps, socks on linoleum. Yamaguchi made himself perfectly still, intently watching the movie but absorbing none of it as he heard Tsukki pad into the living room. The footsteps stopped a bit behind the couch, and Yamaguchi made himself count to ten before he spoke.

“You want to come sit?” he asked.

There was silence and then Tsukishima moved again, sitting down and doing a very admirable job of looking casual. Yamaguchi smiled at him lightly and then turned his attention back to the TV, at least nominally. He was hyper-aware of Tsukki and every movement he was making.

They were quiet for another fifteen minutes or so. Tsukishima seemed restless, fidgeting and adjusting his sitting position every few minutes. Yamaguchi had told himself that he wasn’t going to say anything, but concern got the better of him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“My legs are just stiff,” Tsukishima said. He stopped fidgeting and Yamaguchi left it at that.

He’d never realized just how long the movie was until he had to sit through all of it like this. Maybe he was the only one feeling the tension.

Yamaguchi almost laughed. Tsukki felt everything he did.

But then the movie was ending, credits rolling, and they came to a crossroads. The room was still and felt silent even with the bombastic score playing. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what he should say, or what he should do. If he should do anything at all. Tsukishima cleared his throat and Yamaguchi tensed.

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” he said.

Yamaguchi should have let him. He should have left and let Tsukki go to sleep. But he was impatient and worried and it was late.

“How long are you going to ice me out?” he asked.

Tsukishima finally looked at him and his stomach pushed up into his throat. “I’m not,” he said.

 _“Tsukki,”_ Yamaguchi said.

“I just don’t—” Tsukishima started. He sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Talk to me?” Yamaguchi suggested, adjusting the way he was sitting to face Tsukishima.

“What do you want to talk about?” Tsukki asked, and Yamaguchi could hear his voice flattening.

“What have you been thinking about?” Yamaguchi countered a little too quickly, trying to get his foot in the door before Tsukishima closed off and shut down.

“You know,” Tsukishima said accusingly.

“I really don’t.”

“Are we actually going to do this?” Tsukki asked, and he sounded so tired that Yamaguchi almost relented. Instead he just watched Tsukishima’s face and waited. Tsukishima rubbed at his face and closed his eyes. “Okay, fine,” he finally said. “What I’ve been thinking about.” He turned to Yamaguchi, hitting him with a withering stare. “When did your feelings change?”

Yamaguchi blinked. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Tsukki,” he started cautiously. “It’s been…four _years_ …”

“Great,” Tsukishima said snippily, and Yamaguchi watched his doors slam shut. “Good conversation.”

“Wait!” Yamaguchi said, reaching out his hand as Tsukishima made to stand. He planted it on Tsukishima’s shoulder, more a question than a demand. Tsukishima looked at the hand and then sat back down carefully. Yamaguchi withdrew. “I don’t…I mean…” he rubbed at his eye, “I don’t know if it’s… _completely_ different.”

“Don’t,” Tsukishima said sharply. An unpleasant fluttering filled Yamaguchi’s stomach. He could almost feel it wafting off of Tsukishima. Bitterness, enclosing on a tiny piece of hope like a pearl around a grain of sand. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not—”

“Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi couldn’t hold Tsukishima’s gaze anymore and he looked down at the couch. “I’m not just saying it for you,” he said. “There’s _something_. It’s not the same but…” he shook his head, “it’s still there. And that’s what makes everything so confusing.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Tsukishima said. “I can’t feel anything on you.”

Yamaguchi’s brain seemed to only ever turn on its self-reflection when he was talking to someone else, and as he examined the grain of the sofa’s upholstery the little tickle in the back of his head revealed itself and he slumped a little in realization. “You could feel it when we were in middle school, right? That’s how you knew.”

“Yes,” Tsukishima said thinly. “And it’s not there anymore.” He looked like he was going to run at any moment.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said, lost. He hesitated and then held out his hand, palm up.

He was sure that Tsukishima was going to get up. There was no reason for him to indulge Yamaguchi in his indecisiveness. But instead, after a few agonizingly long moments, Tsukishima placed his hand softly into Yamaguchi’s.

“I just want you to be okay,” Yamaguchi said quietly. “I know I’m not helping.” He rubbed the back of Tsukishima’s hand with his thumb.

At once he was hit with a wave of sudden, deep affection. His chest clenched and his eyes snapped up to meet Tsukishima’s. It took a few moments before he realized that it was coming from himself. It was his. He squeezed Tsukishima’s hand a little too tightly, and somehow they’d gotten closer on the couch, and then his other hand was against Tsukishima’s jaw, lighter than air.

Tsukishima’s eyes were amber, bright somehow in the darkness, and so deep that Yamaguchi found himself unable to see the way out. He shivered and the warmth pulling at him expanded, glowing, and he recognized somewhere in the back of his mind that the emotions were no longer only his.

He wasn’t sure who closed the distance but one moment they were looking at each other and the next their lips were moving against each other and maybe if Yamaguchi were _able_ to think he’d think it was a bad idea. But he felt Tsukishima’s hand tighten around his and then travel up his arm and whatever thoughts he could have had disintegrated.

He felt fingers in his hair and let out a hard breath through his nose as he pushed into the kiss, opening it and letting himself get swept away. It was soft in all the right ways, and he wondered a bit belatedly if Tsukishima had ever kissed anyone besides him. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter much. Tsukishima’s hands were stronger than he thought they would be.

He ran his hands up to Tsukki’s shoulders to stabilize himself, his tongue sweeping lightly across Tsukishima’s lower lip. This prompted a small sound from the back of Tsukishima’s throat, and it sent a thrill through Yamaguchi. It appeared to have done the same to Tsukki, whose hands slid down to Yamaguchi’s waist and pulled him closer.

At once Yamaguchi was hit with a series of images, flashbacks to all the times in early high school when he’d imagined scenes just like this. Alone in his room at night, or sitting next to Tsukishima on his bed as they worked on homework, or watching a romantic scene in a movie. The thoughts had died with Tsukki, but now they returned with a vengeance, one in particular coming to the forefront.

Yamaguchi adjusted himself on the couch, pushing himself up from the awkward sideways sitting position he’d been in and getting up almost onto his knee. His lips didn’t leave Tsukishima’s, tongue beginning to adventure forward. It met Tsukki’s halfway and Yamaguchi made an embarrassingly loud sound. His other leg swung over Tsukishima’s legs and then he was sitting in his lap.

Tsukki took a stuttering breath, breaking the kiss for just a moment, before he surged back in with a force that made Yamaguchi breathless. It was so much closer like this, and even though Yamaguchi was now taller than Tsukishima he felt smaller, in a way that sent a jolt to his groin.

The kiss was no longer slow or gentle. The warmth in his head and chest spread lower and it was overwhelming. He’d lost track of what emotion was his and what was Tsukishima’s, and it climbed in a loop, his urgency running through Tsukishima and intensifying and then coming back to him and he _needed_. He’d been lying to himself for a week, he thought. Whatever had changed in him _this_ was the same.

His hands went to both sides of Tsukishima’s jaw, cradling it and pulling him in. Nothing was close enough. Yamaguchi kissed along to the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth and then around to his ear, sucking at the skin just below it and following the artery down his neck.

Tsukki tensed and the hands on Yamaguchi’s waist tightened. He let out a breath that choked and then turned into a high, soft whine, and if Yamaguchi hadn’t been hard before he sure as hell was now. He moved back up to Tsukishima’s ear, running his tongue just behind its shell and he was rewarded with an actual moan. Emboldened, he returned to Tsukishima’s lips and gave a small roll of his hips, ready to retreat if it was too much but desire fogging his mind.

But then Tsukishima froze, and pulled his head back just enough to break their kiss, and Yamaguchi’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Wait,” Tsukishima said urgently. “ _Stop.”_

Yamaguchi sat back like he’d been shocked, hands leaving Tsukki’s shoulders and stalling in the air, unsure of where to go or what to do.

He watched Tsukishima’s face in the darkness and his lips were tingling and reality crashed down on him. “Kei,” he started.

“I’m making you do this,” Tsukishima said hollowly.

“No,” Yamaguchi said. “You’re not.” He wasn’t sure if he should move or if everything had just been ruined or if he was really as much of an idiot as he appeared to act.

“Yes, I am,” Tsukishima said shakily. “I’m making you feel this.”

“I’m the one who decided—” Yamaguchi said slowly, the overwhelming want steadily being replaced by guilt.

“Of course it feels like it’s yours,” Tsukishima snapped bitterly, unable to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes. “I’m _very_ good at what I do.”

Yamaguchi removed himself from Tsukishima’s lap and retreated to his side of the couch. Tsukishima stood up the moment the weight was gone, and Yamaguchi lunged forward to grab his hand.

“I’m going for a walk,” Tsukishima said before pulling his wrist out of Yamaguchi’s grasp.

“Wait,” Yamaguchi said. “Don’t.”

“I’ll come back,” Tsukishima said, voice thin and unsteady. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t just you,” Yamaguchi said. “I promise it wasn’t just you.”

“I promise that you wouldn’t be able to tell,” Tsukishima replied primly.

“ _Tsukki.”_

But Tsukishima was already across the room, slipping on his shoes. Yamaguchi watched in the dim light of the kitchen as he pulled on the coat Yamaguchi had lent him and ran fingers through his hair. Then he finally met Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll be back late.”

“Don’t run away from me,” Yamaguchi said.

The door closed.

Yamaguchi watched it for a second and then sank back on the couch. He covered his face with his hands and gritted his teeth. He was still out of breath and shaky and felt sick to his stomach. The overwhelming emotion had cut itself in half, and in Tsukki’s absence Yamaguchi felt as empty as the room.

“Goddammit,” he hissed. “ _Fuck_.” He was an idiot with no self-control and now they were back to square one, or worse. Probably worse.

The door to the stairs echoed down the hall when it closed. Definitely worse.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Asahi started, “what _can_ you control?”

The early afternoon sun was cut by a heavy cloud cover, though it didn’t seem like it was going to rain. They stood next to each other on a moderately crowded city bus, holding onto the same pole and trying to make as little eye contact as possible. After leaving the hotel Asahi had walked until he found a sporting goods store, where he bought a thin but acceptably warm fleece jacket. The children’s sizes were considerably cheaper, and once he’d returned to the street where he’d left Nishinoya he’d hoped that the fact that he’d ended up buying a children’s large wouldn’t come up.

It hadn’t so far, and Nishinoya appeared very happy with the new article of clothing, though he’d protested at first that Asahi’s jacket was warmer. Asahi knew that wasn’t true but Nishinoya wasn’t actually making noises about taking Asahi’s jacket instead so he didn’t say anything. They both wore masks, like half of the bus, and that did wonders for concealing their identities.

“Um, nothing,” Nishinoya said, slightly muffled.

“You didn’t let me fall,” Asahi said. “And you undid my handcuffs.”

Nishinoya blinked up at him like he’d been told he was a wizard. “The ones that are still on you?” he asked skeptically. Asahi shoved his handcuffed hand deeper into his pocket.

“They were on _both_ of my wrists,” Asahi said, squinting. “Like handcuffs usually are.”

“I don’t remember doing that,” Nishinoya said, puzzled. He pulled the mask down off of his nose and took a bite of the protein bar Asahi had gotten next to the bus stop.

“I think it could be a sign that there’s some way to control your power,” Asahi said.

“You don’t think they tried everything already? They spent five years trying to figure that out,” Nishinoya said, a bit more irritably.

“We can’t just run in there in the hopes that you can blow it up—but not too much,” Asahi said. Nishinoya winced and raised his eyebrows.

“Whew,” he said, “Cutting to the core.”

The bus stopped and the doors opened. Nobody got on or off and the bus huffed as it closed the doors again and jerked forward. Asahi swayed. “So it’s emotions, right? Are any of them easier to control than the others?”

Nishinoya shrugged. “No.”

“Okay,” Asahi pursed his lips, surveying the street outside the window. He kept expecting to see Oikawa’s face somewhere in the crowd, and his stomach clenched at the thought. “What about…an on-off switch? Can you stop or start it?”

Nishinoya thought for a moment, jutting out his bottom lip. “I mean,” he started with a laugh, “how depressing do you want to get?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” Nishinoya sighed, examining the red bar he was holding onto with a sudden interest. “The only one I can turn on is sad. Then I can’t stop it, which is where explosions happen. The only one I can turn off is happy.”

Asahi watched Nishinoya for a long moment. The boy’s face was carefully blank. He wobbled back and forth as the bus turned, and Asahi was struck with the need to say something, to break the tense silence.

“Depressing or not it’s a start,” he offered.

“Ah, man,” Nishinoya groaned, scratching the back of his head, lighter mood returning all of a sudden, like it seemed to do. “I feel like you’re only seeing the _lame_ Noya. Like all that windy shit—lame! If we had Tsukishima I could do all kinds of crazy stuff. Y’know. Like…oh my god, there’s the coolest thing,” he continued, eyes flaring to life as he looked up at Asahi, “where Tsukki does this whole happy-scared thing and if he gets it right I can shoot water and then like send electricity around and just, you know.” He made a little _khh_ sound effect and wiggled his fingers. “Electrocute shit.”

“Sounds exciting,” Asahi said, glancing around as Nishinoya’s voice grew louder. There were a few looks from an old woman in the elderly seat by them, but she didn’t say anything.

“And then there’s one where he can do like a whole happy-sad- _angry_ thing all right after each other and then I can shoot _steam_ —shit—!”

Nishinoya had taken both of his hands off of the pole to mime the steam-shooting and as the bus slowed to a quick stop he lost his balance. He fell into Asahi’s chest before Asahi had a chance to grab him. He stumbled a bit and hands came up to grab at Asahi’s jacket. Asahi steadied him with the hand that wasn’t in his pocket.

“Whoa,” Asahi said softly, looking down at Nishinoya. Nishinoya looked back up at him, eyes wide.

“Oops,” he said. “Ankle.”

“Be careful,” Asahi chastised, but there was no feeling behind it. Nishinoya pulled back, glancing casually out the window. The woman in the seat by them had an aggressively neutral face as she watched them, and Asahi could practically feel the disapproval dripping from her perfectly flat mouth. He avoided her gaze.

Nishinoya jerked his head a little and gestured for Asahi to come closer. Asahi leaned over, offering his ear. Nishinoya brought his lips right next to Asahi’s ear and whispered like he was telling a secret.

“Nice pecs, by the way.”

Asahi choked on his breath and coughed, straightening and blinking at Nishinoya like he was an alien. Nishinoya snickered as the doors closed and the bus lurched forward again.

“Two more stops,” he said nonchalantly, mischievous smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Sick of me yet?”

“You’ll have to try a little harder,” Asahi said, finding his composure. “I’ve been told worse.”

“Worse?” Nishinoya asked slyly. “Or better?”

“You heard whatever you want to hear.”

“Ooh,” Nishinoya whistled. “Karasu-san gets around.”

“Karasu-san is a grown-up who went to college,” Asahi said, aiming for joking condescension and unsure if he made it. Nishinoya wiggled his eyebrows.

“I bet you were swimming in girls,” Nishinoya teased. “A stud like you? Absolutely _drowning.”_ He paused at Asahi’s impassive look. “No? Boys? Both? Neither?”

“Not a conversation for this bus,” Asahi said cryptically.

“Well—”

“Or ever,” Asahi continued.

“Not fair,” Nishinoya complained. “I bare my heart to you and all I get are table scraps.”

Asahi huffed out a small laugh, eyes wandering out the window. They were just far enough outside of the city to see it as a single entity, tall buildings rising out of nowhere and towering over the bay.

They were silent for a few minutes, Nishinoya watching Asahi as Asahi watched the city recede. They pulled up to another stop and the unimpressed old woman got off, along with a good number of the other passengers. They stop they were going to was the second to last on the line and the bus was quickly emptying.

“Hey,” Nishinoya started. Asahi blinked down at him.

“What’s up?”

“You think when we go out into the woods I can find a big stick and make, like, a cane or something? That’d be sweet.”

Asahi paused, a thought forming. “Gandalf the Short,” he said absently. Nishinoya sucked in a breath, looking absolutely scandalized.

“Ex _cuse_ you,” he shot back, recoiling.

“How tall are you?” Asahi challenged.

“I’ll have you know I grew like five whole centimeters in Seijoh,” Nishinoya said.

“That puts you at what?” Asahi placed his hand on Nishinoya’s hair, flattening it until he hit the top of Nishinoya’s head. It was farther down than he’d been expecting. “One-sixty-two? Three?”

Nishinoya glared up at Asahi, who withered a bit. He withdrew his hand.

“Well?”

“A hundred sixty-one,” Nishinoya said, adding quickly: “And a half! The half is important!”

“Holy shit,” Asahi said involuntarily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nishinoya waved his hand in dismissal. “You’re like four hundred centimeters tall, we get it. Actually, Tsukishima’s probably a little bit taller than you.”

“There are plenty of people who are taller than me,” Asahi pointed out.

“Great,” Nishinoya said, irritation clearly put on. “That’s something we have in common.”

The bus slowed to another stop, soon after the last. They disembarked, Nishinoya holding onto Asahi’s shoulder as he limped. The wraps around his ankle seemed to be making it a little easier for him to put weight on it, but running the night before certainly hadn’t helped anything. Asahi wondered how he’d even managed it.

It was a warmer day than the one before, but still cold enough that Asahi was glad for his jacket. They walked in relative silence for a while, mostly in the grass on the side of the road. The occasional car rumbled by. Asahi almost missed the roar of bugs in the summer, but it was more peaceful like this. Autumn had always been his favorite season. The mountain was turning all kinds of spectacular colors, and in a week or so it would be covered in red and orange.

Nishinoya was slow but insisted on walking on his own, using Asahi’s arm and hopping a little. They crossed a small bridge over a river and Asahi was struck for a moment with the desire to just stand and watch the water. They needed to get to the woods as quickly as possible so he ignored the impulse.

“I lived a pretty good ways out of town,” Nishinoya said. “Back in the day. Not like completely in the country.”

“Sendai is the country,” Asahi joked.

A small breeze picked up, pulling the baby hairs from Asahi’s forehead. Nishinoya had a bit of bedhead, though it was hard to tell, and the wind made it more obvious. “We had a dog. I think I tried to name him ‘Gundam Wing’ but my dad vetoed that.”

“There was a stray cat who lived next to my house,” Asahi said, smiling a bit cautiously. “We never named her, but the year I started middle school she had kittens.”

Nishinoya snorted. “I’m allergic to cats.”

Asahi shrugged. “Unfortunate.”

They were quiet for a few more minutes. The road turned as it began up the mountain, but a smaller, dirt road forked off at the turn and they began to follow that up into the woods. It led to a campsite that featured a hiking trail, but they weren’t planning on following the road all the way down.

Off of the road the underbrush was uneven and Nishinoya was having some trouble navigating it with only one functional foot. Asahi offered another piggyback ride but Nishinoya was suddenly stubborn about it and refused.

There was finally a hidden root under the fallen leaves that proved too much for Nishinoya’s little hopping limp and he stumbled and fell, pulling on Asahi’s jacket as he dropped.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled, face-down in the leaves and small ferns. Asahi felt a jolt of worry but when Nishinoya groaned and rolled himself over onto his back he looked okay.

“Good timing,” Asahi said, and Nishinoya’s eyes rose to the front wheel of Asahi’s bike, about twenty centimeters from his face.

“I’m a master detective,” Nishinoya said, making no move to stand.

 Asahi walked around Nishinoya’s head and pulled away the branches he’d used to cover the bike from prying eyes. In the light of day he could see that it hadn’t been very effective, but given that the bike was still there he figured it was enough of a success.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“Nah, I’m pretty comfy down here,” Nishinoya said. There was a leaf on his forehead.

“You look about as tall as usual,” Asahi quipped and that got Nishinoya going. He grabbed a stick and chucked it at Asahi’s face.

“Ha ha, wow, Karasu-san the comedian,” he drawled, but he accepted the hand that Asahi offered and made it back to his feet. He leaned against the tree whose root had tripped him as Asahi brushed crumbs of bark off of the seat of the motorcycle. “What’re we up to now?”

“I’ve been thinking a little,” Asahi said. “I think that even if you can’t control what you do with your powers, it would be helpful for you to be able to turn them on and off.”

“Okay,” Nishinoya said, a bit skeptically.

“So I thought…” Asahi’s face warmed. It sounded dumber when he said it. “That we could try to work on that?”

“I mean,” Nishinoya sighed. “We can try.”

“And it’s probably safer if we’re out in the woods,” Asahi said.

Nishinoya nodded, looking around. He didn’t seem particularly confident.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked. “Believe me, they already tried basically everything.”

“Well, I was thinking for a start,” Asahi said, “I could try to make you happy.”

Nishinoya blinked at Asahi and then stared, eyes wide. His nose was a bit pink from the cold, but it darkened. Then he turned stiffly until he was facing the tree and hugging it, face smushed up against the bark. He took in a long breath and then let it out with a high-pitched, quiet noise that sounded sort of like a scream.

“Are you okay?” Asahi asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“Me? Yeah. I’m great,” Nishinoya replied quickly, muffled against the tree. “Awesome. Terrific.”

“Did I say something?”

“No, you’re good,” Nishinoya said. “I mean, yes. But no. Don’t worry about it. Go ahead. Make me happy.”

The air felt humid.

 

* * *

 

It was getting darker as the days went so they only had an hour or so of real daylight before it got too dark out in the woods. Asahi built another campfire, which was considerably more difficult without his lighter, but when he’d suggested to Nishinoya that he try to make a little bit of fire with his powers the boy had balked.

Eventually, with a bit of knowledge gained from those adventure books (“For Boys”) that Nishinoya had insisted were the only reading he was allowed to do in elementary school, they got a fire going. The night was clear, which was a relief. Rain would be an unnecessary complication to an already tenuous situation.

“Maybe we shoulda gotten a blanket, huh?” Nishinoya said, knees up and huddling as close to the fire as he dared get. He scratched at one of the stones surrounding Asahi’s makeshift fire pit with a twig.

“Are you cold?” Asahi asked, knowing it was a dumb question before it left his mouth.

“No, I’m sweating up a storm,” Nishinoya drawled. “It’s like a sauna out here. A windy, ten-degree sauna.”

“Do you want my jacket again?”

“You’re just a regular knight in shining armor, huh?” Nishinoya said. “No, I’m good. I just like complaining. We can huddle together for body heat if you really want.” He looked up in thought. “Like penguins.”

The fire crackled and a log shifted. “Penguins.”

“Yeah, I mean, they gotta keep the egg warm somehow.”

Asahi watched Nishinoya strangely for a moment. Nishinoya’s eyes were still cast up, like he was examining the trees. Maybe the stars, though it was hard to see many of them below the canopy. His features were small and sharp, something that was accented by the firelight. It didn’t make him mousy, though—he was small but everything was proportional and though he looked young there was the telltale edge of maturity in his jaw. A wave of fondness washed over Asahi and he smiled. Nishinoya glanced at him and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Asahi said, eyes flicking down to the fire. “You want another protein bar?”

“I’m good.”

Asahi had been asking about happy memories earlier in the evening, hoping there was something Nishinoya could bring up that could trigger an event. For how cheerful Nishinoya seemed to be much of the time he had some trouble coming up with a memory that started happy and stayed that way.

There were some of him being at home, playing with his dog, and Nishinoya’s eyes lit up as he recalled them, voice picking up with his excitement. But then the light would fade and he’d laugh, making some off-hand remark about how Gundam Wing was probably dead by now. Or he’d remember playing some dumb game with a middle school friend (there were several like that—one involved trying to learn parkour on the school roof and nearly breaking his arm), only to pause and add that he’d never gotten to graduate.

Asahi had eventually decided that memories before Aoba Johsai weren’t the way to go. Nishinoya had become a bit negative and had gotten stuck on the idea that finding Tsukishima was the only way they’d have a chance.

So Asahi had let it drop.

The fire died down to low flames and bright orange embers. Asahi stretched and groaned before letting himself fall to the side. “We should wake up early tomorrow,” he said. He tucked his arm under his head, trying his best not to think about bugs. A night of sleeping indoors had made him suddenly wary of sleeping on the ground.

“By the morning I am going to be a Noya-sicle,” Nishinoya complained, arms inside the body of his fleece jacket but still shivering. “A fun-size frozen treat.”

Asahi laughed and then lifted his arm. Nishinoya didn’t seem to notice for a second, but then he raised an eyebrow.

“Doing a tree impression?”

“Come on,” Asahi said, nodding for Nishinoya to move over to him, something careful but brave stirring in his chest.

“What?” Nishinoya asked.

“Penguins,” Asahi explained.

Nishinoya froze, watching Asahi. Then he broke and laughed. “Am I the egg?”

“If you want to be.”

Nishinoya seemed to deliberate for a second before he began to move, pushing his arms back out through the sleeves of his jacket and crawling around the fire. He stopped in front of Asahi and then let out a sharp breath. “How do you I know you aren’t secretly a pervert?” he quipped quietly before lying down stiffly, a good few centimeters in between his body and Asahi’s.

“What, are you going to freeze to death a little bit closer to me?” Asahi asked before lowering the arm he had lifted and pulling Nishinoya’s body until the smaller man’s back was touching his chest. His jacket was unzipped and Nishinoya’s back was cold. Nishinoya squeaked.

“I was getting around to it,” he protested. He was quiet for a second and then he sighed deeply, body relaxing a little. He rested his head on Asahi’s arm. “Holy shit,” he said after a moment, “You are a furnace. And also gigantic.”

Asahi tucked his arm around Nishinoya’s chest and hummed.

“It’s been a while since I saw a nature documentary but I’m pretty sure if you wanted to be a penguin you’d have to stand up and I’d have to sit on your feet,” Nishinoya said.

“Good thing we aren’t penguins,” Asahi said lightly.

There was a small splatter on Asahi’s cheek and he groaned. Another followed and he removed his arm from around Nishinoya to wipe the water off. “Shit, is it raining?”

Nishinoya cleared his throat. “No, probably not.”

“Then what…” Asahi started, but he was cut off by an exaggerated snore from Nishinoya.

“Good night!” the smaller man said quickly. “I’m asleep.” Another snore.

There was another splatter, this time on the arm of Asahi’s jacket and he filed the information away for later use. He put his arm around Nishinoya again and adjusted his position until his head was comfortable, cradled in his hand.

“Just try not to put the fire out,” Asahi reminded quietly.

Nishinoya made a noise of protest again but didn’t say anything else. There were another few drops of water, one landing on Asahi’s shoulder and one on his leg, and then they fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa’s footsteps clicked down the hall, faster and faster, urgency building like a drumroll. His face was blank and his breaths stuttered and then he broke into a jog, down the B wing and then around the corner and by the time he reached the stairwell he was running, attempts at nonchalance cast away as blinding fear overtook him.

Down three floors like a bolt of lightning, and then the access panel at the door took a million years to scan his I.D., hands shaking. He burst through and the Special Containment floor smelled like antibacterial soap and concrete. Everything was too white and too well-lit and Oikawa’s skin was cold.

“What’s going on?” he called sharply down the hall. He slowed his run to a purposeful walk, still too fast. Director Ushijima stood a short way down the hallway, along with some member of the security personnel in dark blue garb. Oikawa straightened his back and clenched his jaw.

“Glad you could join us,” Ushijima said impassively. Out of anyone else’s mouth it would be sarcastic but Ushijima was always business all the time. “Tooru-kun.”

Oikawa reached them, swallowing down panic. They stood in front of a cell, glass-fronted and small. There, strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, sat Iwaizumi.

Oikawa’s heart lurched and before he could stop himself he was at the glass, breath quickening and eyes widening. Iwaizumi watched him, shoulder and leg still braced and bandaged. Oikawa ripped his gaze away from the cell and planted a cold stare on Ushijima.

“What happened?” he asked, measuring his voice with a teaspoon.

 _They’ve got Iwaizumi-san in containment in the east block,_ the voice on his pager had said. _Ushijima-sama is requesting you._

_Iwaizumi-san tried to kill himself._

“There was a bit of an incident,” Ushijima said, unhurried and unimpressed by Oikawa’s urgency.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Oikawa bit back. He was shaking.

“It appears that someone made him aware of the failsafe,” Ushijima said, and Oikawa thought he might throw up.

“The failsafe,” he repeated numbly, looking back to Iwaizumi. Their eyes met and there was something in Iwaizumi’s stare that he couldn’t parse. Anger, maybe. No, more than anger. Different. Deeper.

“He won’t tell us who,” Ushijima continued, watching Iwaizumi with a spark of disinterest. Oikawa, out of impatience, reached inside his head, but Ushijima had been trained well and his thoughts were opaque. “But it seems that he was told sometime in the past day so we’ll find out sooner or later. He has been threatening suicide for the past several hours.”

“Wh—” Oikawa huffed, not sure what question he was trying to ask. “Did he…”

“He hasn’t had the chance to try,” Ushijima said. His narrow eyes swept to Oikawa and hardened. “You realize that this…changes things.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispered.

“Tooru-kun,” Ushijima said warningly.

“I do,” Oikawa said with some effort. He looked resolutely at the ground, heat flooding his face and neck like a child. “Realize.”

“We’ll be keeping him in containment,” Ushijima said flatly. “Your objective remains the same.”

“Can I talk to him?” Oikawa asked.

“You are the retrieve the escaped assets,” Ushijima said.

“Can I _please_ talk to him?” Oikawa asked again, desperation rising in his voice.

“When they’ve been returned to Aoba Johsai we’ll work something out,” Ushijima continued, and Oikawa felt like he was speaking to a wall. “You’ll lose field privileges, of course.”

“ _Please,”_ Oikawa impressed, finally meeting Ushijima’s eyes. His hands had curled into fists and he hadn’t even noticed.

Ushijima watched him for a long moment and then sighed, closing his eyes. He nodded and jerked his head for the security guard to open up the comm system. Oikawa looked through the glass, eyes searching Iwaizumi’s face.

“My office, mission brief, two hours,” Ushijima said.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tried. Iwaizumi’s eyes widened a bit. He could hear him.

Ushijima left with the security guard, and Oikawa waited until heard the click of the door closing to speak again.

 _“Iwa-chan,”_ he started, brain unable to form full sentences.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Iwaizumi asked, voice low. His voice came over the small speakers at the top of the glass wall.

Oikawa looked around helplessly. “Because this is apparently what you’d do when you found out,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

“I could have been killed at any moment,” Iwaizumi said, “Any moment.”

“So your solution is to kill _yourself_?” Oikawa asked incredulously.

“You’re not the one with the bomb in your head!” Iwaizumi barked. Oikawa shrank, shoulders rising. Iwaizumi watched him for a second before his eyes softened and he looked away. “I just…I don’t even care about that.”

“Then why—”

“You are trapped here,” Iwaizumi said. “You’re being kept as a prisoner and made to do Ushi-fucking-waka’s bidding because—” he clenched his jaw and then burst, “—because of me? That’s why?”

“Did you miss the part where if I don’t you die?” Oikawa shot back, nerves breaking.

“You could have been out of here _years_ ago!” Iwaizumi yelled, and Oikawa watched him wince, pulling his shoulder back. Oikawa’s hands itched and he would have given anything in the world to be in there. “ _Shittykawa_ …you’re not a fucking martyr! You’re self-centered every other time, so why not now, when it matters?”

Oikawa’s mouth fell open just a little and he stared at Iwaizumi, anger and frustration and panic congealing into an immense, unscalable helplessness.

“Iwa-chan,” he murmured. “ _Hajime_.” He looked around like the words might be floating in the air and then, with a force that surprised himself, he slammed his fist against the glass wall and squeezed his eyes shut. The thud echoed down the hall. “Literally…literally in what world would I not choose you?” He opened his eyes and looked at Iwaizumi, tired, and laughed without mirth. “In what fucking _universe_ would I not choose you?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. He and Oikawa just looked at each other for a long time. Oikawa’s whole body ached with the need to touch Iwaizumi, even just for a second.

“I’ll get you out,” Oikawa said. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice low.

“I’ll kill them if I have to,” Oikawa continued, voice dull but firm. “I’ll kill Ushiwaka and his whole posse if I have to.”

“Don’t be extreme,” Iwaizumi said.

“I’m not,” Oikawa said. “I’ll get that thing out of your head and we’ll get out of here and I will kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

“Keep your voice down,” Iwaizumi cautioned.

“I don’t care,” Oikawa said. “They’re done using you.” His vision clouded and he cursed under his breath, tensing his jaw to keep his eyes dry.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said. Oikawa’s chest clenched. “You know I love you.”

Oikawa broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, nose stinging and throat gumming up. “I love you too.”

“But if you get yourself hurt I will kill you.”

“Funny,” Oikawa said, taking in a long breath. “I was going to say the same thing.”

“Now stop being a sap and go get those kids.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa said, nodding and finally reaching up to wipe at his eyes, self-conscious.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for lying,” Iwaizumi said. Oikawa continued to nod.

“I know.”

“Now go, you’re too serious and it’s freaking me out.”

Oikawa laughed, too hard because of the nerves. He felt like he’d been stretched out across the whole ocean. “Yeah, okay, fine,” he said. He bit at his lip and stared at Iwaizumi. His eyes fell across Iwaizumi’s body. “You’re not going to heal like that,” he murmured.

“ _Go_ ,” Iwaizumi said. “I’ll be fine. I wasn’t actually going to do anything. I overreacted and now I’m here and there’s nothing we can do about it for the time being.”

Oikawa smiled with some effort and flashed a peace sign by his face. “You look good tied up,” he tried to joke. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. Oikawa blew a small kiss and then turned off the comm.

He lingered for a moment and then started back down the hall. His mind was sluggish with anxiety but the wheels were beginning to turn. He had to think of something, some way to fix this. Quick.

 

* * *

 

“The most important thing right now is that if anything goes wrong, or you feel like you’re out of control, make sure you don’t brake too fast,” Asahi said. “You want to brake _hard_ , but just trying to slam on it will make you lose control.”

He leaned over Nishinoya, putting his broad hand over a smaller one and pulling back the brake lever. Nishinoya sat astride Asahi’s bike, feet barely reaching the pedals. He wore Asahi’s jacket as a safety precaution, though he’d finally given in and rolled the sleeves back. He pushed Asahi’s hand away and tested the brake himself.

“If you’re going fast enough you’ll probably end up falling but it’s better than crashing into something and getting thrown off headfirst,” Asahi continued. “And we won’t be going very fast right now anyway.”

“Okay, sick,” Nishinoya said impatiently, pulling back on the throttle a couple times and making the motorcycle grumble. “How do I make it go?”

“Not yet,” Asahi said. “You’ve got to learn how to change gears.”

It was a slow process ( _throttle, clutch, pedal, throttle, clutch,_ Asahi repeated about a hundred times before Nishinoya finally got the hang of it), but after about forty-five minutes Nishinoya was moving forward on Asahi’s bike without immediately braking. The dirt road was mostly deserted, though a couple of bikers passed by on their way to the campsite. Nishinoya seemed a bit afraid to go faster than a few kilometers per hour, but of course he wouldn’t admit it.

“If something happens to me and you need to get out of Aoba Johsai you need to be going faster than walking speed,” Asahi sighed.

“I’m working up to it!” Nishinoya shot back, furrowing his brow. “I just need to get a feel for it.”

Asahi rubbed at the bridge of his nose and then nodded. “Okay, let’s get you a feel for it.”

He gestured for Nishinoya to get off the bike and then swung his own leg over the seat. He patted the passenger seat slightly elevated behind him and Nishinoya made a face before he climbed on.

“Hold on,” Asahi said. Nishinoya paused and then arms wrapped around Asahi’s waist. “Watch my hands.”

“Your shoulders are too wide, stud,” Nishinoya complained. “I can’t see anything.”

“Do your best.”

Asahi brought up the kickstand with his heel and they started off down the road. Nishinoya peeked up and over Asahi’s shoulder as well as he could.

“Remember that it goes from first to neutral and _then_ to second,” Asahi said over the engine. “Look.”

Nishinoya watched him silently as they picked up some speed, reaching the end of the dirt road and pausing for a moment before turning back onto the regular, paved road. Asahi didn’t know where he planned on going, and he didn’t want to waste too much gas, but he figured they could spare a bit.

They picked back up to highway speed and Nishinoya’s grip on Asahi’s waist tightened. It wasn’t an unwelcome pressure. Asahi smiled and slowed down a bit, mostly because there were few other cars on the road and neither of them had helmets.

“You want to try?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Where are you going to sit?” Nishinoya joked. Asahi braked and turned off to the side of the road. They were starting to get closer to the more populated areas and he didn’t want to venture too far in for fear that they wouldn’t get back out.

“As far away from the bike as possible,” Asahi laughed, dropping the kickstand again and sliding off the seat, gesturing for Nishinoya to take his place. Nishinoya scooched forward until he was in the seat, placing his hands carefully on the handlebars.

“I got it this time,” Nishinoya said. He brought the bike out of neutral and Asahi smiled.

“Good.”

Asahi should probably have seen it coming, but Nishinoya seemed confident and it was contagious. The shorter man’s nose was wrinkled in concentration as he knocked up the kickstand, pushed forward and proceeded to throttle so far Asahi could _see_ it turn while letting the clutch out too quickly, and he stalled hard.

“I don’t like that noise,” Nishinoya said, perplexed.

“Happens to everyone,” Asahi said. “Also, uh, remember what I was saying about having a light touch on the throttle?”

“Right,” Nishinoya hummed.

They tried a few more times, and by the third Nishinoya managed to get moving and even switch from first gear to second. Asahi was getting more nervous by the minute so he called it quits, despite protests from an increasingly excited Nishinoya.

They made their way back up toward the mountains, orange trees speckling the sea of green. Nishinoya’s arms looped around Asahi’s waist loosely—he’d gotten more comfortable with the speed and the wind. They turned off of the main road and the dirt path was starting to seem more familiar. It wasn’t as though they needed to return to any one place, of course—they didn’t have anything with them. The only thing tying them to their spot in the woods was the fire pit.

Asahi saw the coat before he saw the person’s face, and even though he’d only seen it once before he still felt a frozen rock drop into his stomach. The figure stood in the middle of the dirt road, hands up, and even though Asahi slowed on the approach he couldn’t stop in time to leave a comfortable distance. Nishinoya popped his head around the side of Asahi’s arm and at once the air dried up. Asahi hadn’t even noticed the humidity until he felt its absence.

Oikawa stood there, head ducked passively, hands in the air like he was being arrested. Asahi’s hand flew to the handle of the pistol in his jacket pocket at the same moment that Nishinoya sucked in a quick breath, hopping off of the motorcycle. There was blood on Oikawa’s face.

“Back for round two, huh?” Nishinoya challenged. Asahi drew the gun and pointed it at the ground with both hands, not sure if he should cock it yet. Nishinoya stayed close to the bike and Asahi could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rising, and he shot Nishinoya a worried glance.

“Calm down,” he intoned, and Nishinoya’s jaw clenched. The tiny freckles on his cheek glowed yellow.

“Have a nice drive with Mr. Action Movie?” Oikawa asked cheekily, but he made no moves forward. Asahi’s eyes darted around, looking for any sign of others hidden by the trees.

“Don’t move,” Asahi warned.

“I’m not here to capture you,” Oikawa said. He nodded to his hands. “I’m surrendering. I don’t want to fight.”

“Right,” Nishinoya bit. “Of course. What a believable thing for you to say.”

“I’m serious,” Oikawa said. His eyes certainly _looked_ serious, and Asahi couldn’t feel anything in his head. “I just…ugh! You’re going to make me say it.” He sighed. “I need your help.”

“How did you find us?” Asahi asked, voice even. He could feel the crackle of electricity in the air between him and Nishinoya.

“Dragonair over there’s got a tracker. I can show you where it is and you can take it out. If you don’t shoot me.”

Asahi’s eyes flicked to Nishinoya, who paled. “Want to run that by me again?” Nishinoya asked slowly.

“Under your skin,” Oikawa said, hands still up by his head. “By your collarbone.”

Nishinoya’s hand flew to his chest, fingers peeking under Asahi’s jacket and pulling down the neck of his too-big shirt. “You’re lying,” he said, but then he froze, fingers lingering.

“You asked,” Oikawa said, shrugging defensively. “You think we just _magically_ found you in the station?”

Asahi tasted metal in the air and his skin prickled. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Nishinoya.

“Get out of my head!” he yelled roughly. A visible arc of white light cracked down his arms, dissipating by his fingers, accompanied by a loud crunching noise. The yellow light in his skin intensified and Asahi flinched.

“Jesus, fine, okay!” Oikawa said, taking a startled step backward. “I was just trying to calm you down.”

“Didn’t fucking work,” Nishinoya hissed.

“Nishinoya,” Asahi pressed softly, cautiously. Then, almost inaudible, “Noya-kun.”

Nishinoya looked to Asahi quickly, eyes wide and breaths too fast. Asahi opened his mouth and said the only thing that would come to mind.

“Penguins,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a question.

Nishinoya watched him for a second, uncomprehending. Then, like it was leeching back into his skin, the light receded and the crackle stopped. Nishinoya’s face didn’t change, though, eyes still too big. Pink lightened his cheeks. He swallowed and then looked down at his hands, decidedly electricity-free.

“Huh,” he said softly, in wonder. He pursed his lips and looked like he was suppressing a small smile.

“You just…” Oikawa started, and Asahi’s attention flicked back up, hands tensing once again on the gun. “Stopped. By yourself.” He blinked. “Okay, character development.”

“What do you want?” Asahi asked sharply, hostility replacing worry.

“I told you,” Oikawa said. “I need your help.” When he didn’t receive a response he took a small, casual step forward. “I want to help you break into Seijoh.”

“How did—” Nishinoya started.

“I can read minds, Yuu-chan,” Oikawa cut in, sickly sweet. Asahi’s eyes narrowed.

“Why would you help us do that?” he asked, hoping his deep skepticism echoed just as sweetly.

“It’s a long story,” Oikawa replied with a smile that only went as deep as his skin. “Involving the fact that they’re threatening to murder my boyfriend, and I’m not very happy about that.”

Asahi sucked in a deliberating breath and silently cursed himself even before he spoke. “Get on the ground.”

“Is that a yes?” Oikawa asked.

“Ground.”

“Fine, fine. Action hero strikes again,” Oikawa tutted as he got to his knees and then stomach, putting his hands behind his head. “You’d better not just drive off without me.”

Nishinoya looked to Asahi, an unspoken question passing between them.

“He can’t control both of us at once,” Nishinoya whispered, glancing quickly to Oikawa to make sure he hadn’t moved.

“Come on, get over here already,” Oikawa complained. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“If he tries anything we shoot him,” Asahi whispered back. Nishinoya’s eyes shot wide.

“First of all, no,” he whispered. “He’s got a shitty personality but…” He sighed sharply. “It’s a long story. He was in Seijoh. With us. I’m not going to shoot him.”

“I think there’s a worm on my arm!” Oikawa cried.

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Asahi asked.

“If he is he can get us inside,” Nishinoya replied. “He knows it better than I do.”

Asahi bit at his lip and then nodded. “Okay.” Then, louder, “Okay, get up. Hands up. Do anything funny and you’ll regret it.”

“You made me lie on the ground for nothing,” Oikawa huffed, pushing himself up and sitting back on his knees. As Asahi approached he could see that the blood on Oikawa’s face was accompanied by a series of bruises.

“You look like shit,” Nishinoya supplied helpfully, a few steps behind Asahi.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Oikawa said grimly. Asahi hoisted him up and he gave an unimpressed look over Nishinoya. “The jacket’s cute.”


	6. The Probabilistic Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nishinoya and Asahi find a teammate and Sugawara sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was such a long time coming! Graduation was earlier this month and between that and moving and rehearsals it's been hard to find time to write as much as I wanted. Updates will be much more frequent from here on out.

“You’ve got thirty seconds to convince us,” Nishinoya said, arms crossed in front of him.

Oikawa shifted against the tree. His hands were untied—they weren’t his most dangerous weapon anyway—but he was held in place by the muzzle of Asahi’s pistol, uncocked but trained on him from Asahi’s position on his bike. They all knew that Asahi wouldn’t shoot, not really. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to. That’s what the bike was for.

His feelings on Oikawa were conflicted. He could still feel the cold metal in his mouth, his finger on the trigger, the voice in his head. But then the image was cut by the scene from the night, Nishinoya glowing green, and Oikawa kneeling by Iwaizumi’s body like he was going to die too. Asahi’s mind settled on a solid uncomfortable.

“I can help you get the tracker out _and_ help you get back into Aoba Johsai,” Oikawa said like he was teaching a toddler numbers.

“Not convinced,” Nishinoya countered. “Twenty seconds.”

“What would it even take to convince you?” Oikawa asked tiredly.

“Prove that you’re not working with Seijoh anymore,” Nishinoya demanded. He was standing on his good foot, trying to make it look like he was just casually lounging.

“I think saying that I was ever _working_ with them is a bit of an exaggeration,” Oikawa said. Nishinoya didn’t look very comfortable with the answer and he pointed right into Oikawa’s face.

“You think I’m buying that?”

Oikawa’s face scrunched and he looked like he was holding himself back. “Right,” he started snippily, “Because after I was kidnapped, held prisoner, experimented on alone—for _years_ —the first thing I’d want to do is start working for the people who kidnapped me. Because I’m an idiot. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Hey,” Asahi started, but Nishinoya held out a hand.

“Then why?”

“Because they’d blow off Iwa-chan’s head if I didn’t.” Oikawa snorted. “You remember Iwaizumi. The guy you threw into a wall?”

Nishinoya ignored this, putting his hand on his hips. “Who beat you up?” he asked.

“Some of the people _you_ think I’m still working with. Because I tried to leave.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “They’re a bit worse for wear.”

“Why wouldn’t they know where you are? They can probably track you too,” Nishinoya said suspiciously. Oikawa smiled lightly.

“I did have a tracker,” he said, hands moving up to the zipper of his jacket. Asahi tensed, finger rubbing lightly on the trigger. Oikawa unzipped the coat halfway and yanked down the collar of the sweater he wore underneath. There was a bandage just below his collarbone, a single pad of gauze held on with medical tape. It was stained partially red. “It’s sitting in about four hundred pieces in the garbage at a 7-11 downtown.”

Nishinoya winced and Asahi saw him glance down at his own chest, eyebrows furrowed. “So you broke out to…help us? Because you got tired of trying to capture us and decided to turn into a nice guy?”

“Look,” Oikawa said, planting a lazy stare on Asahi. “You want to get someone out of Seijoh. _I_ want to get someone out of Seijoh. If we work together we both have a better chance of making it.” He turned his attention back to Nishinoya. “And you need someone who can stop you from blowing everyone up.”

“Watch it,” Asahi warned, but Nishinoya just rolled his eyes.

“Maybe blowing shit up is the goal, you know,” Nishinoya said testily.

“Like Tobio-chan?” Oikawa jabbed. Nishinoya tensed and his eyes flared. “ _Shouyou?”_

“That’s enough,” Nishinoya said, cooling himself back down. He groaned and rubbed at his face with one hand. “Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?”

“You’re pointing a gun at me,” Oikawa pointed out. “Again.”

Nishinoya made a small noise of irritation.

“We were working on that,” Asahi cut in, tired of biting his tongue. “Him being able to control it.”

Oikawa blinked in surprise, though Asahi had the feeling it wasn’t at the content of what he’d said. “Like there’s something you could do in a week that _scientists_ couldn’t do in…what, were you there for four years? I forget when they brought you all in.”

“Five,” Nishinoya said quietly.

“You think that they would have wanted anything more than to be able to use him as a weapon without the empath? The other kid was cooperative, sure, because he’s not a dumbass, but you think they weren’t trying everything to be able to use Nishinoya on his own?” Oikawa asked, looking up at Asahi as though he were looking down instead.

“Use?” Asahi asked tentatively, worried by the dark, pacified look forming on Nishinoya’s face.

“Seijoh’s a military weapons facility,” Oikawa sneered, “Masquerading as a research hospital. Your boy toy here is a bomb. I happen to know how to diffuse it.”

Asahi had nothing to say to that, but he didn’t need to. Nishinoya laughed sadly and shook his head. “Wow, thanks, yeah. I almost forgot.”

“Nishinoya—”

“No,” Nishinoya said. “He’s a piece of shit but he’s right.” Asahi expected Oikawa to look smug but instead he looked wary, the puffy purple bruise blooming under his eye making it smaller than the other. Nishinoya suddenly twitched and his eyes squeezed shut. “I get it. Get the fuck out of my head. I’m not going to blow up.”

Asahi’s eyes widened and he raised the gun, the aim of which had fallen to the leaves below, back up to Oikawa’s head. “No brain stuff, that’s the deal.”

Oikawa raised his hands in surrender and Nishinoya relaxed. “Wow, Yuu-chan, you found such a cute attack dog.”

“Karasu-san,” Nishinoya said, and Asahi lowered the gun slowly.

“Well, this was a great chat,” Oikawa said, clapping his hands lightly and shifting onto his haunches. “As it happens, my grandparents used to own a cabin on the mountain that they’d rent over the summer. I think we’d all like to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“We never said we were working with you,” Asahi said.

Oikawa gave him a sort of sad look as he stood. “We’re going to the same place to accomplish the same goal, and I’m just offering you a bed.”

“It’s probably a trap,” Nishinoya said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.

“Right, because this morning I cut a two centimeter piece of metal out of my chest for fun,” Oikawa said soberly. “I’m not trying to be your best friend. The more bodies we have, the better a chance we have at getting in and out of Aoba Johsai alive.”

Nishinoya’s face paled and Asahi could see him staring at a space just below Oikawa’s face. “Two centimeter?”

“It’s not as bad as you’d think,” Oikawa said dryly.

“This cabin,” Asahi cut in. “Where is it?”

“Close,” Oikawa replied. “Forty-five minutes by foot. It’s just off of the campsite.” He smiled and Asahi was realizing that the sly, uncomfortably familiar grin was just the way that Oikawa’s mouth moved. “Does this mean I can join the team?”

“If you try anything you’ll regret it,” Asahi assured, trying to project bravado.

“You guys seem to think I’m some kind of supervillain,” Oikawa said, _tsk_ -ing under his breath. His eyes were sharp and the dried blood between his nose and lip made him look more dangerous than he was. “I was being blackmailed into doing a job, and now I’ve quit. That’s all there is to it.”

Blackmailed. Asahi filed that away and looked to Nishinoya, who was giving him a comically displeased look.

“I really, really don’t want to bring him with us,” he said. Oikawa looked positively offended. “But I think we have to.”

Then something shifted, and Oikawa’s eyes widened. His whole face changed in a millisecond, chilly smile dropping into dead seriousness. He looked back behind him like there was something right there, and then he crouched quickly, gesturing at Asahi and Nishinoya to do the same. Asahi tensed.

“There’s someone here,” Oikawa whispered harshly. “On the trail. I can hear them.”

Asahi’s eyes darted up and around, as though he’d be able to see through the trees. “Right here?”

“Get down,” Oikawa said, voice measured but urgent. He paused for a moment, eyes drifting to the leaf cover of the ground. “It’s part of my Seijoh team,” he said slowly, like a great epiphany was dawning on him. “They followed me.”

Asahi and Nishinoya met eyes and Nishinoya nodded almost imperceptibly. Asahi swung his leg off of his bike and crouched as well. Oikawa crawled closer, voice low.

“They say they followed me to the trailhead,” he said, eyes focused on the trees behind them. Asahi supposed he was listening to their minds. The thought was still uncomfortable but in this case came as a begrudging relief. “They saw you driving up. Goddammit.” His nose wrinkled and his eyes were thin.

“Shit,” Asahi hissed, heart lurching. He fixed a glare on Oikawa.

“I know,” Oikawa said tiredly. “It’s my fault. I was careless.” Asahi blinked at how genuine it sounded. Oikawa froze and then even Asahi could hear the footsteps.

“So it’s a trap, huh?” he asked, more a probing than an actual accusation.

This time Oikawa locked eyes with him, tired look turning into bitter concentration. “If it were a trap there’d be no reason for me to hide.” He jerked his head. “You might just have to trust me for a full thirty seconds.”

Asahi bit his tongue, mollified and unhappy about it. Nishinoya seemed to be perfectly ready to believe what Oikawa was saying. Asahi, despite himself, could easily call to memory the voice in his head. _Crash the bike._ He could feel the phantom hand guiding the gun to his mouth.

“Look,” Oikawa said, clipped. “I’m sorry about that.” Asahi’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“I’m _sorry,_ okay? I had direct orders to get rid of any potential accomplices and I was running on three hours of sleep.” Oikawa’s eyes darted back down toward the trail. “Anyway, you shot at me first.”

“That’s a half-assed apology if I ever heard one, and I don’t even know what it’s for,” Nishinoya muttered.

“I’ll grovel later,” Oikawa said absently. A loud footstep and a small “shit” drifted up from below the rise.

“Make them go away,” Nishinoya suggested lowly, like a child telling a secret.

Oikawa nodded and his lips pursed. Asahi wasn’t very good at telling distance by sound alone, but the cracking of leaves and twigs seemed to still be close to the trail, some twenty meters away. “They’ll be able to tell it’s me. They were trained to be able to tell if I’m not careful about it.”

“Then be careful about it,” Asahi said dangerously. Oikawa gave him a long-suffering look.

“I can plant little ideas that’ll buy us time,” he said.

“Oikawa-san!” a voice called, deep and almost bored-sounding. Asahi jumped, bracing his hand on the ground and wincing when leaves crunched. “It’s time to go home.”

Asahi considered how far away Nishinoya’s arm was and how fast he could get them both on his bike in the brush. His mind wasn’t working as quickly as he wanted it to and it was frustrating. Oikawa closed his eyes in concentration. His lip twitched and then he turned, eyes opening to pierce the ground cover behind them.

“When I give you the go-ahead grab your motorcycle and get behind that bush as quietly as you can,” he whispered. His voice was different like this, the teasing lilt gone and replaced with clipped authority.

Asahi half expected Oikawa to be in his head as well, with how inclined he was to obey, but he couldn’t feel anything. He glanced to Nishinoya, whose face was open but serious, lips parted. “Put her into neutral,” Asahi murmured. Oikawa crept toward the tree against which he’d been sitting, pressing his back into it and peering carefully around it.

Nishinoya blinked and then rose, keeping his head ducked. The key was already in the ignition—Asahi heard Nishinoya turning it and then the small click of the dashboard blinking on.

“Oikawa-san,” a second voice called, just as deep and just as bored as the first. “Captain!”

“Why would he be up there?” the first voice asked. There was a pause. Oikawa raised his hand slowly, meeting Asahi’s eye. He lingered there and then cut down through the air like he was starting a race.

That was the signal. Asahi rose quickly but quietly and Nishinoya took a careful step in between fallen leaves. Asahi’s bike was too heavy for him to lift but he could get enough leverage to lighten its press against the brush. He and Nishinoya walked it quickly up a small rise and then into a sparse bush, the kind that could probably have held flowers earlier in the year. The branches were rougher than Asahi expected but he was too focused on remaining quiet.

“What do you mean, ‘why would he be up here?’” the second voice asked. Asahi’s footsteps were deafening to his own ears. Oikawa’s face was entirely focused, almost scarily so.

“Get ready to get on,” Asahi whispered to Nishinoya.

“He can read your mind,” Nishinoya whispered back. “Sorta hard to make a secret escape plan.”

Asahi grimaced and kept his eye on Oikawa. They ducked behind the bush and Asahi carefully snapped the kickstand down without letting it click too loudly.

“We know you’re there,” the first voice said. “Come on. Cut it out.”

“Look, Makki and I don’t want to be out here. You don’t want to be out here. It’s not worth it,” the second explained.

“Iwaizumi-san’s fine,” the first voice—Makki?—added.

Oikawa’s steely face of concentration broke, just in between his eyes, so quickly that Asahi could have blinked and missed it. There was something sort of anticlimactic about being out of the loop when entire conversations were going on inside someone’s head.

“Azumane’s up there too, isn’t he?” the first voice continued. “You’re not a criminal, Oikawa-san, so don’t abet one. Just come back.”

Asahi’s blood froze in his veins. His eyes met Oikawa’s, wide, and then he glanced to Nishinoya despite himself.

“Did Oikawa have someone with him?” Nishinoya asked. “He looked like he was alone.” He whipped around, suddenly wary. “I’m pretty sure he was alone.”

Oikawa’s eyes were so intense it was hard to keep their gaze, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Asahi’s jaw clenched and he tried to get himself to calm. “There’s no one else here,” he said, voice low. “We would have seen them.”

Nishinoya nodded and smiled lightly, and Asahi felt the first swift pang of guilt wrack him. Nishinoya didn’t deserve to know nothing. With Oikawa here now it felt like he wasn’t just keeping a secret anymore—it felt like lying. He swallowed around a boulder and the let out a puff of breath, pushing down the anxiety and fear until all that was left in his mind was a sense of duty. Get them to a safe place. Keep Nishinoya safe.

Keep Nishinoya safe. That was a new one.

Then something changed in the first person’s voice. “Okay, well, we’ll be back for you,” he said, like he was reading from a cue card.

Asahi raised an eyebrow and Oikawa’s façade broke with a wink. He mimed shooing the two men down below away like cats. Then he pointed at Asahi and Nishinoya. _On three_ , he mouthed, holding up three fingers, and then something Asahi didn’t catch.

Oikawa sighed sharply and then mimed coughing into his hand. He pointed at Asahi again. _Cough_ , he mouthed again. _On three._

“Why?” Asahi whispered and Oikawa’s eyebrows shot up. Just do it, was the face he was making. One finger went up, then the second, and on the third Asahi decided to cut his losses and coughed in a not particularly convincing way into his elbow.

Oikawa smiled and make an O.K. sign before his face changed, darkening. “Shhh,” he hissed. “Shut up.”

“Are we acting?” Nishinoya whispered almost inaudibly.

“Apparently,” Asahi said, bewildered.

Oikawa left his spot against the tree and hurried up the small incline to the bush behind which they were hiding. “Coast’s clear,” he said. “Let’s move.”

“Hold up,” Nishinoya said. “Why the coughing? Where are they going?”

“Let’s get walking,” Oikawa said. “I’m still their commanding officer. I just told them something they’d believe.”

“Why didn’t you tell us what was going on?” Nishinoya continued, obviously trying to keep his voice low but obviously losing track of what ‘low’ meant.

“You don’t want me in your heads,” Oikawa said. He shot Asahi a challenging glance. “A team works best when it’s comfortable.”

Something about that was chilling, but not in the way Asahi expected. He wouldn’t trust Oikawa as far as he could throw him, but there was something about him that made you want him on your side. The confidence to say that he was good enough to meet you wherever you were. That all the work was on him. That it would be easy.

“Then what did you tell them?” Asahi asked. Oikawa shrugged and his intense gaze was immediately covered by a self-righteous smile.

“That I’m a double agent. That I’m still working for Seijoh, and they were interrupting a very important mission.” He straightened to his full height and ran a hand through his hair. “Genius, I know, you don’t have to flatter me.”

“And they bought it?”

“I’m their captain. Why would I jeopardize my own team?” Oikawa said a bit strangely. Nishinoya coughed. “What?” Oikawa demanded, offended.

“I don’t believe any sane person would trust you that much,” Nishinoya said. “You flip-flopping sides every two seconds.”

Oikawa raised one eyebrow, on his uninjured eye, and then he laughed, softly. “Yuu-chan,” he tutted. “I’ve only ever been on one side.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and something sloshed around. He shrugged again. “If one person can be a side. It’s not my fault it keeps skipping around.”

His voice was light but the feeling behind the words was almost tangible in the air. There was silence for a few minutes, save for the twittering of birds high in the canopy and the crunch of their feet and the bike’s wheels on the dry leaf cover. The forest had always scared Asahi when he was a child, but now it was the only place that felt any kind of safe.

“By the way, Yuu-chan,” Oikawa said suddenly, as though the conversation had never stopped. Asahi jumped and almost tripped on the base of a fern. “There wouldn’t happen to be any other projecting telepaths in your little escape posse, would there?”

Nishinoya’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked to Oikawa skeptically. “No. Why?”

“No reason, no reason,” Oikawa said, waving a hand dismissively and humming to himself. “It’s just curious, is all. I could’ve sworn.”

“Sworn what?” Asahi asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Well,” Oikawa said with a sigh, “ _someone_ stopped you from blowing your brains out in the train station, and it wasn’t me.”

“Tobio’s still in Seijoh,” Nishinoya said cautiously.

“Like I said,” Oikawa mused. “Curious.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Shimizu-san?”

Shimizu looked up from Yui’s laptop, sitting primly at the counter in the kitchen. There were several tabs open—names of people she had known before Seijoh, the aliases of the few she’d met from Tokyo. Anyone who was still out and about and would be willing to help ease their way.

“Hm?”

Sugawara ducked his head a little and smiled. “The TV remote died. Mind giving it a little extra buzz?”

Shimizu looked back down to the screen and her mouth stayed in a line. “I’m not feeling particularly well today. I’m not sure I can.”

“Ah, well,” Sugawara laughed, scratching at the back of his head. “So he’s still out of range?”

Sugawara’s voice changed, a switch so small it would have been imperceptible to someone who didn’t know him well. Shimizu’s eyes hardened and she smiled.

“Not so loud,” she said softly.

“Sorry,” he said with a hum. He shuffled around a bit, leaning against the counter. “I’m just worried.”

Shimizu stopped scrolling and sighed. After a moment she reached up and closed the laptop, resting her hands on its top. Her eyes met Sugawara’s for the first time. “I know,” she said. “I am too.”

“Any luck so far?”

“I’m trying to figure out who I should contact,” Shimizu said. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“But if we need them,” Sugawara murmured.

“My first priority is this group,” Shimizu promised. “Yui was right. Most of the Miyagi team is impossible to contact. I’m going to have to let Tokyo know what we’re doing.” She brushed back her hair and tried to get herself to relax. “See anything interesting lately?”

Sugawara stiffened but didn’t move. “Nothing relevant. You getting anything?”

“I haven’t been…” Shimizu gestured toward Sugawara’s head and he laughed.

“Okay. I know it’s a lot.”

“If you see something tell me,” Shimizu said. Sugawara nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

“You know there’s a chance we’ll have to go back in.”

Sugawara bit at the inside of his cheek and then shrugged. “If there’s a chance we don’t have to I’ll work my hardest to make sure that’s the future that we end up in.”

“Hey,” Tanaka’s voice blared from the office. “Find any batteries?”

Sugawara rolled his eyes. “Change the channel on the set,” he called back.

“Like a some kinda caveman?” Tanaka shot back.

“Duty calls,” Sugawara said apologetically. Shimizu nodded and shot a withering glare at the door. Sugawara laughed in earnest this time.

 

* * *

 

The mountain cabin existed, to Asahi’s great relief. It was uncomfortable to have to follow Oikawa anywhere, but at least Asahi could keep an eye on him as they walked—slowly to accommodate Nishinoya’s ankle. Oikawa was limping himself, but it looked like it might have something more to do with a bruise than a joint.

Oikawa knelt with some effort and reached under the low porch. He scrunched his nose and retracted his hand. “Spiderwebs,” he said, shaking it off, but then he reached again and, after a moment, pulled out a single key.

The cabin was new but built in a traditional style—modified to appeal to foreign vacationers—with paper walls and tatami flooring. It was a summer home and as such it was cold, though there did seem to be a functioning winter kotatsu. The thought of being warm flooded Asahi with relief.

Also a relief was the fact that there was running water and some electricity. With the doors closed it was still quite cold inside, but it felt like a _house_.

“We can’t let you stay here with the tracker in you,” Oikawa said curtly as Asahi peered into the second, smaller room warily.

Nishinoya stiffened and pursed his lips. “Right.”

“We don’t want him to get an infection,” Asahi said. The scrape on Nishinoya’s forehead had scabbed over quickly but their situation was tenuous enough that any injury was dangerous.

Oikawa looked grim as he pulled from his coat pockets a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, a roll of gauze, and a razor. “One step ahead of you. I’ve already performed this surgery once,” he said. “I’m a professional.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nishinoya said, paling.

“It’s right under the skin,” Oikawa said, and Asahi supposed it was meant to be comforting. “It’s either that or someone else from Seijoh finds us. They won’t be as nice as me.”

“Nice,” Asahi said, unconvinced.

“I’ve been an absolute peach,” Oikawa said, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room. “The fact that I didn’t just flood the place with gas means I’m already a cut above whoever else they’d send after you. Anyway. The longer we stay here with that tracker in you the longer they have to come get us.”

Nishinoya shuddered once and then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“You want your boyfriend to do it?” Oikawa offered. Nishinoya turned to Asahi, eyes wide.

“Not my boyfriend,” he said automatically. Oikawa rolled his eyes. “But what do you think, Karasu-san?”

Asahi got as far as imagining the razor in his hand and then his stomach turned. He felt the blood drain from his face and he shook his head quickly. “I’m squeamish,” he said a bit sickly.

“You were fine when you were cleaning my head,” Nishinoya appealed.

“That’s very, very different,” Asahi said, voice ghostly.

“Time is of the essence,” Oikawa said, playing with the razor absently. “I know they did some endurance trials on you. This’ll be like a pinprick compared to that.”

“What does endurance have to do with it?” Asahi asked, imagining an Oikawa-wielded razor coming anywhere near his skin and feeling as uncomfortable as Nishinoya looked.

“It’s a euphemism,” Oikawa said blithely. He smiled at Nishinoya, though not unkindly, and then glanced back up to Asahi. “It’s a ‘let’s see how hard you are to kill’ test.”

Oh. Asahi remembered Nishinoya saying something along those lines, but he supposed his brain had conveniently decided to lose the information. He swallowed and nodded. “Right.”

“Anyway, the longer we talk about this, the more suspicious this place becomes. You can have Beard-chan hold your hand if you want, but we only have a couple minutes before either that thing’s coming out or you’re leaving.”

Nishinoya sighed and then nodded. “Fine.” He held out his arms. “Slice me up.”

“Good choice, Yuu-chan,” Oikawa smiled glibly and nodded toward the next room. “Kitchen.”

They disappeared and Asahi winced, crossing and listening warily at the door. It wouldn’t be beyond Oikawa to try to isolate them and then control them one by one, if that’s how his power worked. He was crafty.

There was nothing for a few seconds except for some hushed talking and an unhappy whine from Nishinoya, and then a gasp.

“Shit!” Nishinoya hissed. “Ow, fuck me.”

Asahi tensed and peeked around the door. Nishinoya’s torso was leaned slightly over the sink and the moment Asahi saw the drip of blood his throat tightened and he whipped his head away.

“This is going to sting,” Oikawa said, and it was punctuated by a sharp inhale from Nishinoya and a low grumble.

“You did this by yourself?” Nishinoya asked, voice strained and skeptical.

“In a department store bathroom,” Oikawa confirmed absently. There was the stretch of tape and then, “Put pressure on it.”

“It’s real, holy shit,” Nishinoya said, half disgust and half wonder, and Asahi certainly didn’t want to see what they were talking about. The water ran in the sink and then he heard Nishinoya’s jacket zip up.

Oikawa strode out of the kitchen, startling Asahi. He held out a bit of gauze, wrapped around something small and hard. Asahi swallowed and took the object.

“Get into town, dump it, get out of there,” Oikawa said. Nishinoya followed him out of the kitchen, hand plastered to his chest and looking a bit green.

“I want to go,” he said. Asahi looked at Oikawa and then at Nishinoya and nodded.

“You should.”

Oikawa pursed his lips and shrugged dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to play Monopoly alone. Get on the road. We have an infiltration to plot.”

 

* * *

 

The five minutes it took Asahi to fill his bike’s gas tank were some of the most nerve-wracking of his entire life. There was something about being so stationary, about Nishinoya standing around, the bike out of commission, that made Asahi’s stomach turn and his awareness heighten. A woman with a tiny Toyota was filling up just across from him, and once or twice she glanced over at him. He reasoned that there was nowhere else to look. He wished she’d just look at her phone.

He’d also started to feel jittery on the way into town, and he’d realized as they were almost to the gas station that he hadn’t taken his meds in days. He didn’t tell Nishinoya about the empty, hungry, shaky feeling. He knew he wouldn’t crash, but Nishinoya didn’t know that, and having to explain the way everything seemed to be happening too fast, like his blood sugar was low and he hadn’t slept, would be an unnecessary complication.

Nishinoya’s hand crept up to the bandage on his collarbone every so often, feeling around the edges. The only thing keeping Asahi grounded was the fact that Nishinoya wouldn’t stop talking.

“When we first showed up Oikawa was the only one there,” he said as Asahi paid for the gas and stalked back out to his bike, the effort of trying not to look suspicious making him more nervous and, thus, suspicious-looking.

“That why you trust him?”

They got back on the bike and Asahi willed his anxiety down, without much effect. Nishinoya hummed as he swung his leg over the bike and scooched back into the passenger seat. Asahi got on in front of him and keyed the ignition.

Nishinoya shrugged. “He’s always been an asshole.” He shifted and wrapped his arms around Asahi’s waist. His chin only reached Asahi’s shoulder blades. “But he was the closest thing we had to…not a brother. Just. He helped us out a lot when shit got tough. He was there alone for a long time so he knew. Like all the tests and everything. They picked him up a lot younger than us.”

Asahi had many thoughts but nothing to say so he just hummed in assent as they pulled out of the gas station. The roar of the bike overtook any meaningful conversation.

As they got further into town the buildings grew closer together and taller. When they were close enough that there were people on the street Asahi pulled off and parked his bike in a dubiously legal spot outside a large apartment building. On the first floor of the building was a pharmacy, the family-owned kind that would keep its doors to the street open in the summer.

The pharmacy was small and tightly-packed, and Asahi didn’t like it. He and Nishinoya split the moment they entered the store, Nishinoya heading in search of a wrap for his ankle and Asahi going into the most secluded corner of the store he could find, the tiny tracker in his hand.

He looked down at it and then, with little fanfare and a bit of effort, cracked it in half.

He let it fall to the floor and then ground it into the linoleum with his heel, heart pounding. With the tracker gone, whoever was monitoring it probably wouldn’t be very happy. If he were in their position he’d be sending someone out as quickly as possible to assess the situation. Which still might be a while, but it was better to play it safe and leave as soon as they could. He kicked the pieces under a shelf, pretending to be invested in some tube of ointment closer to eye-level.

There was a TV high on a shelf on the wall, facing the cashier’s counter, playing the news on a volume that was low enough to be background noise but high enough to hear. Asahi’s eyes caught on it as he looked around for Nishinoya, and he froze.

Nishinoya was watching it too. Asahi glanced back and forth between the TV and the back of Nishinoya’s head, trying his best to reason that the headline was fake.

_“…on the run, potentially armed. Suspect Azumane Asahi is currently under investigation for murder in the second degree…”_

Asahi’s stomach bottomed out and the next few words were cut out by the fuzz of panic in his ears. He looked at Nishinoya, eyes wide. He couldn’t feel his hands. They needed to go they needed to go.

_“…unclear whether a self-defense case could be built—Azumane may have been attacked prior to the incident…”_

The city wasn’t safe. The TV hadn’t shown a picture of him yet, or maybe it had before they’d entered the store. The store clerk was reading a magazine and didn’t appear to be paying attention. That was good. They needed to go.

_“…Azumane is also a suspect in the Sendai Station bombings earlier this week. Eyewitness accounts place Azumane at the station that morning—some reports indicate that he may be armed with a…”_

Nishinoya turned back to Asahi, eyebrows furrowed. His hands stilled on a pack of compression bandages on a shelf. He must have seen the deathly pale look on Asahi’s face because he snatched up the pack and wound around the shelves as quickly as his ankle would allow.

“Some guy’s taking the fall for us,” Nishinoya whispered, and the overwhelming mixture of stomach-turning guilt and relief that flooded through Asahi almost made him want to throw up.

“I guess so,” he managed.

_“…all this comes a week after the now-infamous explosion some call the ‘fireball’…”_

The TV showed a rough home video in the corner, underneath the newscaster’s matter-of-fact voice. Asahi watched from a different perspective the explosion he had seen from the beach, rising and turning the water red and orange and brightening the whole city like evening light.

Now Nishinoya stilled. His eyes widened and he looked back at Asahi like he’d seen a ghost. “What’s that?” he asked.

“An explosion in the bay a couple days before I picked you up,” Asahi said, more than happy to attach to the change in subject.

“That was the same…” Nishinoya started, and then he shook his head violently. “It couldn’t’ve…I don’t remember.”

“We should get out of here,” Asahi said, hoping his voice was light.

Nishinoya looked worried. Maybe he’d been too light. “Okay. Let’s pay and skedaddle.”

Asahi took the bandages and willed his hands to move the way he wanted them to. None of this was a surprise. He knew. And Nishinoya didn’t know his name or anything about him. He was fine, and as far as he’d seen on the broadcast they hadn’t shown a picture of him. Maybe they had earlier. Either way, the fewer eyes he met the better off they’d be. He couldn’t let Nishinoya know anything was wrong. The thought of explaining sent another jolt of panic through him and he made himself breathe slowly through his nose as the cashier scanned the pack of bandages and he slid a few coins into the tray on the counter.

By the time they left the news had moved on. Asahi was shaky—probably mostly to do with the withdrawal, though the panic certainly hadn’t helped—and all he really wanted to do was lie down. He gritted his teeth and tried to center his thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Nishinoya asked, tugging on Asahi’s sleeve as they made their way back to Asahi’s bike. Asahi nodded curtly and hoped his stomach would settle.

“Medication,” he said.

“Wait,” Nishinoya said, stopping. “We can go back in if you need something.”

Asahi shook his head. “It’s a prescription. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Are you okay without it?”

“Yes. We need to go,” Asahi said, nodding over to his bike. Nishinoya lingered, following slowly. Asahi looked back at him and tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

All that Asahi could see behind his eyes as he started up his bike again was the newscaster’s face and the headline crawl. Nishinoya’s arms wrapped around his waist and the pressure helped.

Almost as quickly as that thought crossed his mind the guilt, already ever-present, grew to be overwhelming.

 

* * *

 

It was quiet. The soft light from the bathroom, spilling out into the hallway, greeted Sugawara when he opened his eyes. He rolled over on the mattress, coming face-to-face with Daichi. His eyes were closed, peaceful, eyebrows furrowed just slightly, and Sugawara thought that being able to wake up next to him was something sort of magical.

It had never been this way. In the facility he’d been doing a job. He was called in after the worst of Daichi’s experiments, the “endurance” tests that nearly killed him but, somehow, never did. The first few times it was hard to watch. The last few he was ready to kill Ushijima himself.

But he’d kept his head down. They toed the line a bit, their first kiss in the infirmary, Daichi’s lungs frantically repairing themselves after breathing straight mustard gas. He looked terrible but at the same time untouched, skin unblemished despite the blister agent, and Sugawara thought that was the worst part of the power, as someone looking in from outside. There was no way to tell how much pain Daichi was in, how much of it was physical and how much of it emotional. He looked _fine_ , and so Sugawara always had to assume he was not.

All that he could do was wait and hope. Every time they brought him in with his bag of supplies and told him to make Daichi whole again he smiled and said that he’d take care of it and then he dug his nails into his arm in preparation for the gut-punch he’d get on entering the room. Daichi always put on a happy face.

They didn’t let Sugawara see him after the rabbit, and the fact that it took him three days to find out—three days where Daichi sat by himself, cried by himself, thought about things that made Sugawara’s blood run cold—would haunt him forever.

When the future came to him it was sudden, blinding, beautiful.

He saw the escape. Eighty percent probability. Recapture—thirty percent. Death—five percent. The odds were good enough for him, because if they stayed there was a 100 percent chance that Daichi would only continue to get hurt until they got bored with him and put him in a cell to waste away for the rest of his life.

If he could even die. That was still up in the air.

So Sugawara planted the seeds of the escape in their minds. Mentions turned into hushed discussion which turned into a plan. Eighty percent rose to eighty-three percent. They made it out.

And now they were lying here, on the same bed, not afraid that someone would walk in and he’d have to hop away with smiles on their faces and the overwhelming fear that one day they’d be caught. He smiled lightly to himself. There were problems. Nishinoya and Karasu-san had disappeared. There was a good chance they’d decided to go back to Seijoh, if they weren’t there already.

But he could scooch over on the mattress and curl into Daichi’s chest and Daichi’s arm would pull him in and his heart felt like it was going to explode with how _happy_ he was. Daichi didn’t smell like medical tape and rubbing alcohol, or fear, or pain. He was broken and there was nothing anyone could do about it, but at least now the breaking was done.

“Roll over,” Daichi mumbled, sleep thick in his voice, making it low and crackly. Sugawara snorted and obliged, wiggling back so his back was flush with Daichi’s chest. He could feel the warm brush of Daichi’s breath on his neck and Daichi wrapped an arm across his chest, holding him firmly.

“I love you,” Sugawara murmured, chest swelling with a thick breath that he let out slowly. Daichi shifted behind him.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice still deep.

“I just wanted to say it,” Sugawara whispered back.

“I love you too,” Daichi replied after a moment, and Sugawara shivered as lips pressed lightly at the nape of his neck. He smiled.

Then his eyes rolled up and he stilled, the dark of the room fading to a point above his head, like his eyes were following a string. His breath faded and he hoped Daichi wouldn’t notice.

The images came all at once, in a way that was overwhelming when he was young but now just made him tired. Vignettes, flashes of color or black and white and moments that were unfinished because they hadn’t happened yet. Up, across, around him, and he could smell rain and a cigarette and food and hear speaking from all around.

And then, like a memory, he saw the future.

One possible future. One of four that drifted to the front of his mind. The most present one came in at a strong probability—almost seventy-five. The next was similar—some of the details were changed.

The most prominent vision was of a room. Metal. Still. He held a gun. He saw Daichi running down a hall, arms pumping. He saw Nishinoya, long hair—that must be Karasu-san, and a flicker of glasses and blond hair. Tsukishima. Movement, an arm, a gunshot.

Oikawa’s face, flushed with exertion, eyes focused, head clear.

Sugawara landed back onto the mattress, though he hadn’t physically moved, mind suddenly empty. Seventy-five percent. A young man with dark hair long enough to brush the bottom of his jaw. A sofa. A kiss—he stopped looking.

“Daichi,” he said quietly. He gathered the important information and distilled it into an idea that wouldn’t be suspicious. “I think I know where to look for Tsukishima.”

Daichi tensed and leaned up on one elbow. Sugawara tipped onto his back and looked up at him, his face illuminated almost imperceptibly by the ambient light from the hallway.

“Where?”

“He had a friend,” Sugawara said. “From school. He talked about him a few times. If he’s still in Sendai he might be there.”

 _He_ is _there_ , Sugawara thought. _I saw it. Ninety-four percent chance he’s still there when we get there_.

“It’s better than anything else we have,” Daichi said after a moment of thought. “Good memory.” He smiled fondly.

Sugawara lifted his head and kissed Daichi softly, banishing the cloud in his mind. He smiled in return when Daichi’s lips followed his as he pulled away. “We can look tomorrow. I just thought of it. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Daichi said.

“Do you think you’ll be able to?”

“I can try.”

They looked at each other for another beat and then Daichi leaned down, lips pressing lightly against Sugawara’s. Sugawara hummed happily and returned the kiss. It was slow, warm with sleep, exactly what Sugawara wanted and yet not enough.

Daichi’s other arm came down as a brace by Sugawara’s ear and the kiss opened just enough to make Sugawara’s breath catch. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of Daichi’s head and pulled him closer. Daichi shifted so he was almost on top of Sugawara, one knee landing on the bed in between Sugawara’s legs.

Sugawara made a small noise and then smiled into Daichi’s mouth. Daichi pulled back, running a hand through Sugawara’s hair, their noses a hair’s breadth apart. Then, to Sugawara’s surprise, he let out a huff followed by a small giggle. It sounded silly in his voice, deep already and now gruff.

“What?” Sugawara asked, eyes lighting up.

“Nothing,” Daichi said, obviously trying to fight down a grin. He caught Sugawara’s lips for another quick kiss and when he pulled back again he murmured, “Just you.”

“I’m going to throw up if you keep being this sappy,” Sugawara teased. He knew that his own emotions were clear on his face. Daichi’s smile faded to a light look of wonder and his eyes searched Sugawara’s face.

“I can’t believe I can do this,” he said.

“I was just thinking about that,” Sugawara replied.

Daichi leaned in again, passing Sugawara’s face and brushing his lips down Sugawara’s jaw. Sugawara sighed and tilted his head to this side to give Daichi more room. Daichi pressed small kisses back to Sugawara’s ear and then down his neck, the kisses becoming longer and more open-mouthed as he went.

Sugawara sucked in a breath as Daichi passed over a particular spot on the side of his neck so Daichi stayed there. He nipped at the skin and Sugawara let out a high hum, squeezing his eyes shut. Daichi’s body lowered and his knee slid up until it was firm between Sugawara’s and this time Sugawara couldn’t help the whine that escaped him.

Daichi finally left the sensitive spot alone and, in an inspired move, traced a slow line up Sugawara’s neck to the base of his ear with the tip of his tongue. Sugawara gasped and his hand gripped the back of Daichi’s shirt. Daichi laughed lowly, so close to Sugawara’s ear that it made him shiver. He could feel his body waking up.

“Don’t get carried away,” he said with a breathy laugh, very aware of the pressure between his thighs and moving against it despite himself. “It’s late.” Daichi pulled back and caught Sugawara’s mouth in a slow, open kiss.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Sugawara wrinkled his nose and dug his fingers into Daichi’s side. Daichi gasped out a laugh and pushed him away, rolling over and landing back on the mattress. Sugawara launched himself on top of Daichi, fingers at the ready and reaching for Daichi’s ribs. He was caught in a counterattack, Daichi tickling up his side and making him squirm away. He pushed Daichi’s hands down, trying to keep his laughs hushed. They rolled over, Daichi trapping Sugawara’s hands in his own and staring down at him with the remains of a tickle-induced smile lingering on his face.

“Bad,” he said, “Down, boy.”

“We’re disgusting,” Sugawara said incredulously. “Imagine if we’d gotten the chance to be like this the whole time.”

“Worth the wait,” Daichi said, and Sugawara’s heart swelled.

He held a gun. Daichi was running. Nishinoya, Tsukishima. Oikawa, sweat dripping down his nose, eyes wide, like predator and prey at the same time. A sofa. A boy with long hair. Shimizu, talking to the boy. Shimizu, withstanding an explosion that should have killed her. Tanaka, arms rising, the ground lifting, breaking, flying—

Sugawara was practiced. He kept his light smile as Daichi curled around him again, his head on the pillow. He smiled as Daichi relaxed and pulled him in tightly. He smiled until he was sure Daichi couldn’t see him.

They were going to go back into Seijoh, he realized. His stomach clenched with dread, mitigated by the certainty of his vision. They were going to go back inside, just like Nishinoya wanted, to save the kids. There was no statistically significant future in which they didn’t go back. That’s what his mind told him, the images behind his eyes. Like memories that hadn’t happened yet.

Seventy-five percent probability rose to eighty.

 

* * *

 

Asahi closed the door quietly behind him. Oikawa was already tucked under the kotatsu and Nishinoya had been right about to join him. The heat was welcoming but Asahi’s mind wouldn’t stop running and he needed a little time to sit and be silent.

The thin porch that wrapped around the whole house was just wide enough for him to sit cross-legged on it, his back brushing the sliding door. The day had been clear and the moon was about half-full, lighting the forest just enough to make it spooky. It didn’t matter. Asahi’s eyes weren’t focusing very well anyway.

The wind picked up a little and the chill reminded Asahi how long it had been since he’d been truly warm. Maybe it would be better just to go lie under the kotatsu and drink in the heat, whether or not he actually ended up falling asleep. But there was the nagging restlessness in his head, like a child running around corners and slipping out of sight, making him tense and his thoughts aimless.

The sliding door shifted and Asahi leaned forward to let it slide open. He didn’t glance up as Nishinoya stepped around him and sat with a bit of a plop next to him.

“I’m here to brood with you,” Nishinoya said, his wrapped leg stretching out in front of him and the other curled up like he was about to stretch.

“It’s too cold out here,” Asahi said. “Go sleep.”

“And let you stew in your thoughts alone? What kind of friend would I be?”

Asahi smiled a little sheepishly and tried to sound unassuming. “Are we friends?”

Nishinoya blinked at him like he’d just transformed into a fish. “What, did I miss the application deadline?”

Ah. “It’s been extended indefinitely,” Asahi said. A grin spread across Nishinoya’s face and Asahi felt his own lips follow despite himself.

“You’re sassier than the average action hero,” Nishinoya said. Asahi shrugged, eyes wandering.

“It’s a new gig. I’m still getting used to it.”

“What do you do?” Nishinoya asked. “Like work-wise.”

“I’m currently unemployed,” Asahi said, mouth stretching into a thin line. Nishinoya snorted. “I was an accountant.”

Nishinoya examined Asahi’s face carefully. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Hundred percent salaryman.”

“Not even like…” Nishinoya thought for a moment, “a personal trainer? Crocodile hunter? Wrestler?”

“I’m not that fit,” Asahi tried.

“Okay, _now_ you’re fucking with me.”

“I enjoy exercise,” Asahi said benignly. He leaned back on his hands, examining the shadow of the forest. “I sit all day.” A pause. “ _Used_ to sit all day.”

“How was accounting?”

Asahi’s head rolled to the side and he regarded Nishinoya with some skepticism. His ponytail tickled the back of his neck. “It was fascinating.”

“Really?” Nishinoya’s eyes were sparkling in the low light.

“No. It was boring but it wasn’t hard, I guess. Just math and paperwork.”

“Talk accounting to me,” Nishinoya said, leaning forward and resting his head on his hand. He fluttered his eyelashes and Asahi laughed.

“Sure thing,” Asahi said. He hummed. “ _Stockholder’s equity._ ” Nishinoya’s eyebrows bobbed. “ _Cash flow statement_.”

“Mm. Hot.”

“ _Balance sheets_. Everything is balance sheets.”

“I live for balance sheets,” Nishinoya gushed.

They were quiet for a moment. The forest was littered with small sounds—wind in dry leaves and the twittering of the occasional sleepless bird. Asahi thought the sounds made it feel colder, somehow. Wider. Hollow. He felt himself drifting and looked back to Nishinoya. The boy’s presence was grounding.

“Were you happy?” Nishinoya asked.

The question caught Asahi off-guard. He sighed and absently reached for the band in his ponytail, pulling it out and releasing his hair, wavy from putting it up right after his shower. He ran his fingers through it and then let it fall around his face.

“I guess. I wasn’t unhappy. It was comfortable.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Nishinoya said.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t much of anything,” Asahi continued. “I sort of existed.”

“That’s not great,” Nishinoya hummed. “What about now?”

“Worried,” Asahi said. “Tired.” He thought for a minute. “I guess I feel…more. More of everything. What about you?”

Nishinoya laughed breathily and Asahi watched him. He looked surprised, not necessarily at the question but at his forthcoming answer. “I can go anywhere,” he said. “I can… _eat_ whatever I want. If I had money, you know. It’s so hard to explain. There’s a whole… _world,_ you know? And I’m _in_ it.” He smiled widely, openly. Asahi’s eyebrows rose and his chest tightened with bubbling warmth. “Seijoh wasn’t the real world. I literally forgot what it was like. But now I’m almost a person again, you know? I thought about this for years and now I’m actually _out_ , and…”

Nishinoya looked up at Asahi and when their eyes met something changed. Asahi felt his stomach drop—not in the way it did at the start of a panic attack, but more like seeing a huge waterfall for the first time, or stepping into a giant cathedral. Overwhelmed. He swallowed, words on the tip of his tongue dissolving and his mouth drying. The smile on Nishinoya’s face was real, solid, genuine, _hopeful,_ and the way it made his eyes into little half-moons just glowed with warmth, and Asahi realized without much fanfare that Nishinoya was beautiful.

 _Oh_.

 _That’s new_ , Asahi thought, but then he realized that it wasn’t, really.

A raindrop splattered on the wood of the porch and Nishinoya ignored it. It felt warmer all of a sudden, the air humid and soft. Then another raindrop fell and hit Asahi right on the nose, breaking him out of his reverie. He flinched and scrunched his face up, eyes closed.

“Ugh,” he groaned. Nishinoya laughed and it was abrasive and too loud and Asahi loved it.

“Sorry. I’m really trying to hold back, here.”

“Don’t,” Asahi said in surprise, eyes opening. Nishinoya’s smile dropped and he looked confused.

“What?”

“Don’t hold back,” Asahi said. “Isn’t that the point? If you’re happy, just…” He shrugged. “Be happy.”

Nishinoya blinked. Asahi thought it might be a trick of the light but Nishinoya’s cheeks and neck seemed to pinken. Rain tapped lightly on the porch and grass and Asahi’s hand. It was warmer than he expected. “Do you rehearse those? Is there some ‘how to be charming’ textbook I’m missing?”

Asahi’s eyebrows furrowed and then he smiled lowly. “Charming?”

“Okay, okay, don’t get all full of yourself,” Nishinoya complained, slapping Asahi on the shoulder and looking back out into the night. “Be happy, huh?”

“We need something to work with.”

At once the moisture dropped from the air and Asahi realized that he had said something wrong. Nishinoya didn’t say anything, but he must have known that Asahi had noticed. He shrugged.

“Yeah. Gotta control it somehow.”

Asahi shifted forward set his hand on Nishinoya’s back, right at the base of his neck. He could feel the sharper curve of Nishinoya’s spine there, maybe a little too prominent. “You also deserve to be happy. For yourself.”

Nishinoya’s shoulders relaxed a little under Asahi’s hand and Nishinoya’s eyes closed. “It’s hard,” he said after a moment. “Nothing seems happy in my head anymore.”

Asahi ran his thumb up and down the side of Nishinoya’s neck, not sure how to be comforting in this situation. “Why’s that?”

“Tsukki,” Nishinoya said. He shook his head quickly. “Not that he did anything wrong! It’s just...I mean, you’ve sorta gotten the gist of what he can do.”

“You said. Emotions.”

“Yeah. And it’s really weird, but…” Nishinoya looked distressed, searching the night air for words. “He’s really, really good at it. Which means that when he makes you feel something, you feel it so much _more_ than normal. Everything is so much more intense. And when you’re going from happy to sad to scared out of your fucking _mind_ —”

Asahi expected some swirl in the air, some wind to pick up with Nishinoya’s voice but nothing came. Instead he felt the skin beneath his hand grow warm—not uncomfortably so, but a change so sudden that he understood that it wasn’t just Nishinoya’s body heat. He stilled but forced his hand to keep moving, massaging the back of Nishinoya’s neck lightly, his hand large enough compared to Nishinoya’s body that he was almost able to brush the rises of Nishinoya’s shoulders with his thumb and middle finger if he stretched.

“And your brain doesn’t know what’s going on, you know? Like usually when you feel something there’s a reason. At least _my_ brain thinks so, and then I start remembering things. If he’s making me angry then I remember all these arguments and shit, but he makes me so much angrier than I was then and that makes the memory-me angrier? And so I have all of these things that I know didn’t happen the way I remember them but I can’t help it!”

“Hey,” Asahi said softly, and how he was able to feel the glow off of Nishinoya like a small heater. “Calm down. It’s okay. Nothing’s happening right now. You’re okay.”

Nishinoya seemed to jolt back into reality, and he looked to Asahi with wide eyes. “Sorry, shit.” He rubbed at his face and took a deep, slow breath. “If I start to get sad I can’t stop and that’s…bad. For the forest.”

Asahi swallowed and his fingers wandered into the hair at the base of Nishinoya’s neck. Nishinoya’s skin cooled slightly.

“But yeah. The same thing happens to most of the happy things I can remember.” Nishinoya smiled a bit grimly and tapped on his knee inattentively. “When the Aoba Johsai people figured out that Tsukki and I could use steam, they had us train with that for a really long time. Steam’s easy, y’know. Water first, then fire. Happy, then sad.” Asahi nodded and Nishinoya shrugged. “So I get happy, my brain thinks of some happy memory, and then half a second later I’m sad and…and you know, the kind of sad Tsukki makes you isn’t normal. It’s not like ‘you-failed-a-test’ sad. Or even like ‘your-dog-died’ sad.”

Nishinoya blinked furiously and Asahi could see his hand shaking where it had stopped tapping out a beat on his knee. “It’s…I don’t even know how to…it’s _devastating_.” His voice caught on the word and Asahi tensed. Nishinoya’s skin warmed like a flare.

“It’s okay,” Asahi soothed, trying not to let his own nervousness bleed through.

“I’m fine,” Nishinoya said darkly. “Oikawa’ll shut it down if it gets too bad.”

Something about that rubbed Asahi the wrong way. “You don’t need someone else to control you.”

Nishinoya smiled sadly and sniffled. “It’s a nice thought. Doesn’t stop me from blowing everything up. And I’m a little bit attached to _not_ killing you.”

“Thanks,” Asahi intoned, and Nishinoya coughed out a laugh.

They sat and Asahi’s eyes wandered back out into the dark. He cleared his throat and his hand fell from Nishinoya’s neck. “I think you could do it,” he said. “I think you could control it.”

“Don’t I wish,” Nishinoya said.

“We can try, at least,” Asahi said. “We can make new memories for you to use. Ones that Seijoh and Tsukishima haven’t touched.”

“We’d better do it fast, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Nishinoya snorted. “Tomorrow? That’s a lot to do in one day. We might have to put together a schedule.”

“We can start,” Asahi said softly. Nishinoya didn’t answer.

Asahi watched him. His eyes had adjusted to the low light and now he could see Nishinoya’s face, outlined by the white glow of the half moon. Asahi’s eyes trailed down, along the length of Nishinoya’s arms and then down his legs. He stopped at his foot.

“We should let your ankle breathe a little,” he said, a mostly neutral topic to clear the strange weight in the air.

“I feel like I’d just fuck something up,” Nishinoya said, squinting at his foot skeptically. Asahi snorted and crawled over, crouching down in front of Nishinoya’s leg and gesturing for him to turn.

“May I?”

“Knock yourself out,” Nishinoya said with a shrug. He shifted, being careful when he moved his injured leg. The ace bandage was tight and held firm, and while it made Asahi a lot more confident about Nishinoya’s ability to walk around without injuring himself further it probably wouldn’t be necessary at night. If they were going to try to make a quick escape it would be faster for Asahi to carry Nishinoya to his bike anyway.

Asahi undid the metal clasps holding the bandage on and promptly lost one in the dark. He huffed and then carefully began to loosen the wrap. There were red marks in the skin in the pattern of the bandage’s grain, deeper lines where each individual wrap had been. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Nishinoya’s ankle was still swollen, the bruise on the outside blotchy and yellowed. Nishinoya grunted and then his fingers came down to scratch, delicately but fervently, all around his foot.

“That thing is so itchy,” he complained.

“Trust me, I know,” Asahi mused, watching Nishinoya’s hands. “I sprained my ankle when I was in high school. My mom wouldn’t even let me walk to the kitchen and I don’t think I’ve ever been so itchy in my entire life.”

Nishinoya scratched at his ankle a bit more and then his hands stilled. “I don’t know how long these things are supposed to take to heal.”

“You running on it probably didn’t speed anything up,” Asahi said dryly. Nishinoya kicked at him with his other foot and Asahi dodged it with a laugh. Nishinoya’s jacket was open and the shirt that was too big for him was bunching up in front.

At once the feeling from before came rushing back into Asahi’s chest. His breath shuddered almost imperceptibly, and when he looked up at Nishinoya’s face he couldn’t help the glow of affection that warmed him from the inside. Nishinoya’s hair was down, flattened by the water from his shower, and his eyes were sharp in the night.

Asahi looked down quickly, guilt hitting him. He turned his attention back to Nishinoya’s ankle, lying bare on the floor.

“Is it okay if I move your foot around a little?” he asked, keeping his voice steady. Nishinoya nodded silently, and Asahi wondered if the change in the air was only felt by him. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Roger,” Nishinoya said, giving a small salute. Asahi smiled, almost angry at himself for how charming he found it to be.

Asahi tilted Nishinoya foot carefully to the right, moving slowly but firmly. After a second Nishinoya hissed and Asahi tilted his foot back up. “Sorry,” he murmured, starting to twist to the other side. This way was a bit more mobile, but after a second Nishinoya made a small noise and Asahi stopped.

“It’s just stiff,” Nishinoya said. “Doesn’t hurt the same way it did before.”

Asahi hummed in assent and then carefully pulled Nishinoya’s foot forward, pointing his toes lightly. This way didn’t seem to have as much of an effect, though Asahi could feel the resistance of the swollen tissue around the damaged ligament. He set Nishinoya’s foot back down on the floor, but his fingers didn’t leave, still lightly cradling Nishinoya’s heel.

“How am I doing, doc?” Nishinoya asked.

“As well as you can be,” Asahi said with a hint of a smile, letting Nishinoya’s foot back down to the floor and patting his knee. “Can I see your bandage?”

Nishinoya blinked and then nodded. Asahi leaned in and Nishinoya pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the pad of gauze taped to his skin. A small patch of brown dotted the center, but it didn’t seem like it had bled that much.

“We should change this out in the morning,” Asahi said softly. He ran his fingers over the tape and tried to make sure it wasn’t either going to unstick or cut Nishinoya. The edge of the tape was rough but besides a little redness of the skin underneath it didn’t appear to be too bad. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Nishinoya said, and he sounded a little bit out of breath. Asahi looked up at him and realized, maybe a little belatedly, that they were very close.

Nishinoya let go of his collar and it was baggy enough to stay a bit low, revealing the corner of his collarbone. Asahi could see in the dark the sharp bump of Nishinoya’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed. Then Nishinoya lifted his head so their eyes met, and Asahi felt it again. The strange feeling of his stomach bottoming out and thoughts fizzling before they could be formed. The feeling of looking out over a canyon and realizing how small you are.

Nishinoya’s eyes darted back and forth between Asahi’s and he could hear the drag in his breath. At once the urge to pull away overwhelmed Asahi and he almost did. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, was going to happen, or what he’d do if it did.

“Karasu-san,” Nishinoya started, but it didn’t seem like he knew where he was going.

“Yeah?”

Nishinoya’s hand, which had been propping him up, drifted to Asahi’s. Asahi realized that he hadn’t pulled his hand back, and it lingered as two fingers resting feather-light against Nishinoya’s collarbone. For a moment Asahi thought Nishinoya was going to move his hand away but then Nishinoya’s small fingers ran along his forearm, up the shine of his jacket sleeve, slowing as he reached the curve where Asahi’s shoulder met his neck.

Asahi took an unstable breath and the urge to pull away vanished into the night. He tried to control his shiver as Nishinoya’s fingers drifted down to the edge of his jacket, where the open zipper made way for the shirt beneath. Nishinoya’s eyebrows rose a little, eyes searching Asahi’s in a question.

Asahi’s legs were aching from the awkward position, one knee down on the porch and the other still under him, but he could barely feel them. He answered the question by letting his own hand move up Nishinoya’s neck to lightly cradle his jaw, his fingers threading through the baby hairs at the very base of Nishinoya’s head.

Nishinoya sucked in a breath and his hand stalled against Asahi’s chest. A surge of something—affection, mostly, and awe—crashed through Asahi and he smiled despite himself. He leaned in and his forehead pressed against Nishinoya’s. He closed his eyes.

“So, uh,” Nishinoya tried, and Asahi could feel the puff of his breath. “What’s…I mean…is this a…are you…?”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” Asahi murmured, his nerves peering around the corner of his mind. “Do you want me to leave?”

Nishinoya laughed and Asahi could hear the jitter in it. “Holy shit, no, that’s not what I…honestly, you could…” he swallowed and then his voice lowered, both in pitch and volume as their heads started to tilt. “You could probably do _anything_ and I’d…I mean…”

Asahi hummed and then their noses brushed past each other. His heart was about to pound out of his chest. He felt the hand on his chest tighten, gripping his shirt, and then Nishinoya’s lips met his, slowly and delicately.

Nishinoya’s lips were a little chapped but still soft, firm under Asahi’s, and Asahi felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d had his fair share of hookups, mostly in college, and he’d had a girlfriend for about three months in the middle of his third year. This was different, in a quiet, immovable way. He couldn’t remember ever kissing someone and feeling the same weight fall around him, the security, the feeling of near-frustration at not being able to express in a single gesture everything that he was feeling.

It was honestly a little scary.

Nishinoya was kissing him back tentatively, their lips moving in a slow drag against each other’s. Asahi shifted so he wasn’t looming, letting his other knee touch the deck in between Nishinoya’s.

The kiss deepened slightly, coaxing a sharp intake of breath from Nishinoya, the hand clutching his shirt pulling Asahi in closer. He obliged, his other hand wandering like if often did when he kissed, down Nishinoya’s side and to his waist. Nishinoya made a small noise at that, and the sound sent a flood of heat down Asahi’s body.

He pulled back, Nishinoya’s lips following his for a moment, and he looked into Nishinoya’s eyes. They were shadowed but blown wide, dazed.

“Whew!” Nishinoya said suddenly, raising his eyebrows and breaking the stillness. He let out a breath and blinked exaggeratedly a few times. “So. Um. That happened.” He laughed quickly, like he didn’t know what else to say.

Asahi smiled fully and pulled Nishinoya back in. He heard a squeak and an “oh, holy shit, okay” against his lips before they met a second time.

Asahi opened the kiss after a few seconds, a little more urgent. “Yeah, it did,” he said against Nishinoya’s lips. The other man shivered and his fingers dug into Asahi’s shirt. At once the air thickened, and Asahi registered the patter of small droplets on his jacket and head and the porch.

It was different this time, the water. The droplets were larger, more insistent. Asahi flinched when he felt something brush his hand. He broke the kiss for a moment to look down but Nishinoya took his face and brought it back. There was a string of water hanging in the air, swirling around them and between them and everywhere.

Nishinoya wasn’t an amazing kisser. Asahi had to imagine he’d never had that much (or any) practice, and for a first kiss he was a quick study. Just the fact that he was reacting and smiling and holding Asahi there was a thrill in and of itself, and Asahi thought it could have been the worst kiss in the world and it would still have been worth it.

His waist was so small, Asahi marveled. Thin, of course, but also sturdy, solid under his hands. Asahi’s tongue ran across Nishinoya’s bottom lip and he was rewarded with another whine, high and quiet.

The kiss didn’t heat up but it continued for a while, slow and steady and so unlike Nishinoya. This time Nishinoya broke it, leaning back a little and regarding Asahi with an open smile, face unguarded. Globs and threads of water hung in the air around him, dodging the light rain. The water was warm.

“I was wondering if I was the only one,” he said and Asahi laughed, feeling like he’d just run a race. It was silly. All they’d done was kiss.

“Well, here’s your answer.”

Nishinoya leaned in quickly and planted a small kiss, just a peck, at the corner of Asahi’s mouth. “Hey,” he whispered, lingering close.

“Hey.”

Asahi could feel it coming. He had felt it the moment their lips had met and it had been growing, steadily, in the back of his mind. Now, in the silence, watching Nishinoya breathe and smile and not know _anything,_ really, it crept forward and gripped him.

Guilt.

His smile drooped, leaving his eyes but lingering uncomfortably on his lips. Nishinoya was watching him closely and he knew the second that Nishinoya noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

Asahi swallowed and pulled back. Nishinoya’s eyes were wide now, but he wasn’t ready to give up on his smile yet, though it flagged. Asahi didn’t want him to have to. He forced the smile back onto his own face and cradled Nishinoya’s cheek. Nishinoya leaned into it unselfconsciously and Asahi wrinkled his nose at the combination of affection and guilt the action inspired in him.

“I’m not a good person,” he said a bit lamely. Nishinoya raised one eyebrow.

“You said that before. Still not buying it.”

The water around them was drying up, slowly, vanishing into the air. Asahi didn’t want it to go. He didn’t want Nishinoya to have to deal with his shit. Of course, by being involved with him in the first place he would have to deal with it anyway. Regret accompanied the guilt.

But, Asahi realized, he’d found something that made Nishinoya happy. Happy enough that there had been water dancing in the air, and if he ruined this then he’d only be turning another happy memory dark. He nodded and looked down at his knees.

“Never mind,” he said, and then he punctuated it by catching Nishinoya’s lips again. The kiss was short but lingering and Asahi really didn’t want to pull away.

“You’re a better person than you think you are,” Nishinoya said softly, and Asahi desperately wanted to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://not-the-kind-you-save.tumblr.com/  
> hmu fam


	7. Electric, Kinetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans get broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long! I was in a musical and rehearsals were taking up most of my time, but here we go! Thanks for reading.

“It’s not working,” Nishinoya grumbled, eyes narrowed and stance wide. Asahi furrowed his brow.

“Maybe you’re concentrating a little too hard?” he suggested.

Nishinoya glared at the tree across from him. “But if I don’t concentrate my mind wanders.”

Asahi got up from his seat on the small porch. It was just past ten in the morning, and Asahi thought it was an odd feeling to know the time again. It hadn’t really seemed to matter for the past several weeks, and the clock on the wall in the kitchen was almost unwelcome.

“Anything I can do?” Asahi asked as he approached. The area around the cabin was covered in a bit of gravel and it crunched under his feet.

Nishinoya turned back to Asahi with a sparkle in his eyes. “Maybe I need my happy-meter topped up.”

“Is that so?” Asahi asked, smiling lightly through the nervous excitement curling in his stomach. “What do you need?”

“Lean down here and I’ll tell you,” Nishinoya replied with a tasteless wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh my god!” Oikawa lamented loudly from inside. “I don’t care if you train or fuck but just pick one.”

Asahi’s neck darkened red and his face must have been doing something terrible because Nishinoya burst into too-loud laughter. Droplets of water formed out of the air and then fell, pattering softly on the grass.

“Well?” Nishinoya asked, a little more quietly. “Are you coming down here or am I gonna have to go up there?”

Asahi huffed out a laugh. “So demanding.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened a little and shrugged. “I mean, if you actually don’t want to you don’t have to,” he said, less confidently this time.

Asahi opened his mouth but couldn’t find anything to say so he leaned down instead, capturing a smug Nishinoya’s lips in a quick kiss. Nishinoya relaxed into it immediately, arms coming up to wrap around Asahi’s neck with a small sigh. They’d spent an embarrassing amount of time kissing the night before, until Oikawa had opened the sliding door with a _bang_ and said, hair sticking all the way up on one side, that he was happy for them but they all needed to sleep.

Asahi had been very worried when they’d woken up, his arm curled around Nishinoya’s waist, that it had been something only for that moment, in the light of the moon. But then Nishinoya had rolled over, eyes foggy with sleep, and when he’d smiled up at Asahi the room warmed and the humidity condensed and fell to the tatami mats in droplets.

“I feel really dumb making a big deal out of coming out earlier,” was the first thing Nishinoya had said.

It had taken Asahi a moment to figure out what Nishinoya was talking about. “No, don’t worry,” he assured, “I just didn’t know what to say.”

“But this is, like, a thing now, right?”

Nishinoya’s eyes were calm but sincere and Asahi’d thought that “yes” might have made it sound too much like a business interaction, so he pressed a quiet kiss to Nishinoya’s forehead. When he pulled back Nishinoya’s eyes opened into a blindingly bright grin, and all of a sudden nothing else in the universe was as important.

“Yuu-chan,” Oikawa’s voice had come, tiredly, from the kitchen, “please put the water back in the kettle.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re going in tomorrow and we need to know what we’re doing,” Oikawa said, folding his hands on the table. Asahi sat opposite him and Nishinoya to his right, legs crossed under the quilt of the kotatsu. “First things first, we need to figure out our objectives.”

“Getting Tobio and Shouyou out,” Nishinoya offered immediately. Asahi watched his face—he gave a challenging look to Oikawa, who did not seem to notice.

“Okay, Tobio and Shouyou,” Oikawa said, and that seemed to placate Nishinoya. “Iwa-chan is inside but there’s an explosive in his head.” He spoke calmly but Asahi could see the clench in his jaw. “Rescuing him is a two-step process.”

“What would make the thing blow up?” Nishinoya asked. Oikawa grimaced.

“I’m not sure, but it seems like it might have two main ways of detonating,” he said. “One might be a location-based, automated trigger, and the other one should be manual. Probably under Ushiwaka’s control.”

“So we figure out how to disable the one stopping him from leaving and then get ahold of the one the head guy has,” Asahi said. “Would it be faster just to…I mean…” He shifted uncomfortably, eyes turning against his will to the spot under Nishinoya’s jacket where the bandage would be.

“It’s hooked into his skull. We don’t have the resources to get it out on our own,” Oikawa said plainly. “I also don’t want to risk it having some sort of tamper-based trigger.”

“Okay,” Asahi said, sitting back and thinking. He pulled his hair back and slid the hair tie off of his wrist, forming a loose ponytail. Nishinoya’s eyes followed the action.

“I think you’d have the most luck getting to him in the first place,” Oikawa said. Asahi blinked wildly.

“Me.”

“My team and Ushiwaka might recognize you but the rest of the facility staff won’t. They’d stop me or Yuu-chan immediately but you might be able to make it far enough in to stall for us.”

“What would I have to do?” Asahi asked. Nishinoya didn’t look entirely on-board with the idea either.

“Yuu-chan and I make a distraction in the direction of Tobio’s wing and you go in to the containment chamber where they’re keeping Iwa-chan. He’ll know the specifics.”

“So what, I convince him to leave?”

“He might be a little less than cooperative,” Oikawa said grimly. “He thinks getting himself killed will keep me safe, and his skull can be a bit thick. Make sure you get him to leave with you no matter what.”

“Why didn’t you just mind-control him to do what you needed him to do?” Asahi asked.

Oikawa blinked and stared, hands stilling. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, and after a moment his gaze broke and drifted down to the table. “I’ve never been inside Iwa-chan’s head,” he answered. “Never have, never will.”

“Can’t you hear what he’s thinking?”

“Not unless I try,” Oikawa said, annoyance coloring his tone. “I’m not Tobio.”

“So you haven’t—”

 _“No,”_ Oikawa snapped. Asahi withered. “And I’m not going to. That’s off the table. End of discussion.”

It was quiet for a moment, the air stiffening with tension. Then Oikawa sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ll go after Ushiwaka,” he said. “To figure out how to diffuse the bomb and keep him occupied.”

“Does he have any magic powers we should know about?” Asahi asked skeptically. It was already looking like an impossible job. Things didn’t seem to be adding up in a way that was satisfying to the twinge of nerves curling in his gut.

“No, but he’s crafty,” Oikawa said. “He wouldn’t have gotten this far otherwise.”

“I’ll go after the kids,” Nishinoya said.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Oikawa replied cagily. Nishinoya’s eyes flicked to him in a challenge.

“Why?”

“You should stick with me,” Oikawa advised. “In case something happens.”

“Like what?” Asahi asked. Nishinoya glared at Oikawa and then his eyes fell.

“I’m not going to have a meltdown.”

“You’re going to tell me that?” Oikawa pressed, a bit snippily. “You’re going to be calm and collected when you go down to the basement and see—”

 _“Fine,”_ Nishinoya hissed. “Fine, you’re right, you’re always right.” He smiled bitterly and shrugged. “Sorry I’m such a liability.”

“Noya,” Asahi said quietly. Nishinoya looked over at him and Asahi hated the look on his face more than anything. Then, to Oikawa, “He can handle himself.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Oikawa said. The words were light but his eyes were sharp. “We need Ushiwaka out of the way before we can do anything anyway,” he continued. “We need contingency plans, first off.”

“Where we go if something goes wrong,” Asahi said.

“Something _will_ go wrong,” Oikawa promised. “If we all make it out it’ll be a miracle. What are our priorities?”

“What do you mean?”

Oikawa leveled a stare directly at Asahi, and it was almost more intimidating than when Oikawa was inside his head. “What are we not going to leave without doing? If things go south, do we get ourselves out or the hostages out? What are you ready to die for?”

“Die for,” Asahi repeated uncomfortably.

“I’m getting Tobio and Shouyou out,” Nishinoya said simply. Asahi felt Nishinoya’s foot nudge him—not as a prompt but just for the contact. Asahi watched him for a moment, trying to decide what he should say.

“I don’t know,” Asahi said honestly. Oikawa nodded.

“That’s good to know,” he said.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Nishinoya started to stand. Asahi automatically reached out to make sure he didn’t fall over. Nishinoya didn’t need the hand but he took it anyway, giving it a light squeeze.

“Pee break,” he explained. The look on Oikawa’s face was entirely inscrutable.

The moment the bathroom door closed Oikawa’s gaze turned to Asahi, lip quirking. “You have absolutely no clue, do you?” he asked, more surprised than anything else. “No fucking idea.”

Asahi bristled. His hands were shaking and now was really not the time. “Excuse me?”

“No, it’s…” Oikawa had to stop himself a for a moment to let out an incredulous laugh. “You’ve been toting Nishinoya around for how many days now? And you have absolutely no idea that he could just…you could be lying there, trying to fall asleep, and then suddenly the entirely mountain is on fire because he thought of something _sad_. Do you realize that?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“They kept him in a special room,” Oikawa said, looking side to side as though checking that the coast was clear. “Away from the others for most of the day. Because if they didn’t he’d end up accidentally killing all of them. Tsukishima got there the year I left but that was the first time I saw them let Nishinoya out of containment. He _can’t control it_.” Oikawa looked to the sky and snorted. “That’s not even an insult. It’s just a fact.”

Asahi’s jaw was set and he was about four seconds from letting his fist do what it wanted and slam right into Oikawa’s nose. Oikawa must have heard this but he didn’t move.

“You know what I think?” Oikawa continued, Asahi’s eyes narrowing. “I think that _you_ think that if he gets out of control and is about to hurt you that he’ll be able to stop. That he’ll look at you and say ‘oh, wait, that’s Karasu-san’ or whatever he calls you, and he’ll stop the flamethrower act.” Oikawa crossed his arms and his eyes bored into Asahi’s. “I’m telling you now that he wouldn’t be able to stop it if it were about to kill _him_.”

Asahi opened his mouth, unsure what he was about to say but willing to let out whatever words were nudging at the back of his throat, when Oikawa cut him off once more.

“I’ve seen it happen.”

At that Asahi couldn’t keep quiet. “Looks like he’s alive to me,” he said dangerously, attention flicking momentarily to the bathroom door.

“Not to him,” Oikawa said grimly. “To someone very much like him.”

Asahi’s jaw clenched. “We’re helping him learn how to control it. He can do it.”

“It’s like talking to a wall,” Oikawa murmured incredulously. “Okay, I get it. You haven’t seen him at his worst.” He paused, and then his eyes lit up. “No, actually, I think you have.”

Asahi wished that Nishinoya would speed up in the bathroom, because he didn’t like the way that Oikawa was watching him.

“You probably saw the event. It was pretty hard to miss,” Oikawa said. “They called it the ‘fireball.’”

Asahi’s skin prickled but he tried to keep his cool. “I was on the beach.”

“Even better,” Oikawa said. “You got a front row seat to reason nine hundred that he’s a ticking time bomb.”

“You expect me to believe,” Asahi started, swallowing, “that was Nishinoya.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it because it’s true,” Oikawa said. “That was the escape.” He straightened, looking Asahi straight in the eye. “Aoba Johsai is probably the only place in the world that could even attempt to keep him contained, and the only reason he didn’t level the whole facility is because they kept him under the _ocean_.”

Asahi’s hands were getting clammy and his eyes darted around. “Extraordinary circumstances,” he tried.

“That was pretty average for him,” Oikawa said, and the lock on the bathroom door finally clicked. Just as it opened Oikawa’s eyes intensified and he lowered his voice. “And for the record, if I didn’t believe what I’m saying then you’d both be fucking _dead_ by now, because if he could control it and tried to kill Iwaizumi on _purpose_ …” He bit his tongue as Nishinoya appeared and leaned back, shooting a casual glance behind him.

“You took about a million years,” he complained, eyes sparkling.

Nishinoya grimaced. “Trying to get away from your ugly face,” he said and Oikawa squawked, serious look all but vanished from his face.

Asahi felt sick to his stomach and wasn’t sure what had done it. It was probably a combination of everything—his medication, sitting in his bag in Yui’s apartment, Oikawa’s surety, the smile on Nishinoya’s face.

It was probably mostly the meds at this point, he reasoned. He stepped past Oikawa, who watched him go. Then he took Nishinoya’s place in the bathroom, closing the door and flicking on the light. It was quiet.

Something in Asahi was trembling, something deeper than his bones. His breaths quickened and he crouched in front of the sink, hands clutching its edge. He tried to calm himself, to focus, to think clearly, but it was so much easier to give in to the aimless panic. He bit the inside of his cheek. Now was not the time.

What if while he was wasting time in the bathroom Oikawa tried to take Nishinoya? What if Asahi couldn’t get to them in time and they left? What if Nishinoya had a meltdown? What if it was exactly like Oikawa said it would be, a storm of fire and wind too strong to stop?

What if Nishinoya was a bomb?

So what?

Asahi’s heart was ready to beat out of his chest and he was caught, too nervous to step back outside and too worried about what might happen if he didn’t to stay. Was this really what he was like after just a few days without the anxiety medication? Was this what he’d been like before?

He could hear Nishinoya speaking, and it didn’t sound upset or panicked. Annoyed, maybe, but nothing seemed wrong. Of course nothing was wrong. Of course.

Asahi’s nose stung and he grimaced as his eyes started to water without his permission. This was going too far and he was getting too caught up in his own head. He stood, biting back the helpless tears, getting angry with himself. Now was not the time. A practiced hand of repression reached into his mind and pushed at the panicked thoughts, driving them down below his consciousness and replacing them with a fragile layer of nothing at all. Emptiness, tangible and hollowing.

 _I’ll just save this for later_ , he thought bitterly. He could cry when this was over. Maybe he’d be lucky and not cry at all.

He had a sudden vision of the beach, of Nishinoya’s body rising and swirling with fire, hundreds of meters above the water. A mushroom cloud. Heat, windows breaking. All from such a small body. Quiet, still, and then deafening chaos.

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost inaudible through the walls of the cabin, and if Nishinoya hadn’t turned off the water in the kitchen Asahi might not have heard it. But in the low hum of activity of the evening woods there was an unmistakable, sharp _crack_ of a branch snapping under a foot.

Oikawa and Asahi froze at the same time and looked at each other. Oikawa’s face changed in less than a second from his skeptical, flippant normal expression to cool concentration, like a light switch turning off. Asahi wasn’t making any noise but Oikawa held a finger to his lips anyway.

“That’s not a person, is it?” Asahi asked, voice low.

“I don’t hear anything,” Oikawa whispered back, and Asahi knew what he meant.

But then there was another footstep, a boot on gravel, and it definitely wasn’t an animal. Asahi wasn’t sure if it was possible to pass out from the sheer whiplash of an adrenaline rush, but he sure got close. All of the blood drained from his head and fingers.

Oikawa grunted and popped up, watching the sliding door. “Fuck,” he hissed. “How did they get here?”

“Nishinoya,” Asahi meant to call, to warn, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs so it came out like a breath. Oikawa backed up.

“They must have jammers,” he muttered. “That’s why I can’t…they’re serious— _fuck_.” He looked to Asahi, who had somehow managed to get to his feet. “You don’t have the tracker anymore, right? You got rid of it?”

Asahi nodded numbly. “Yeah. It’s in town, I broke it, it’s gone.”

“What?” Oikawa asked, and his voice was suddenly low, dangerous. Another footstep on gravel, and they had to move now. Asahi regarded him, unsure what part he was questioning. “You broke it?”

Asahi felt like he’d been dunked in ice water. “Was that not what I was supposed to do?”

Oikawa’s eyes were wide now and he looked back and forth like something was going to jump out of the walls. “You,” he started, and his voice wavered so he stopped. He let out a long breath and when his eyes flicked back up to Asahi’s they were cold. Sharp. “Get your bike. We’re leaving.”

Asahi’s skin was clammy and his eyes wouldn’t hold Oikawa’s gaze. He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“We have to get out of here yesterday,” Oikawa said, urgency suddenly rising. He cursed under his breath. “ _Yuu-chan_ ,” he said, quiet but urgent enough to cut through the cold air. There was a small clang and a hiss, and then Nishinoya’s head appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“We’re going, come on,” Oikawa said, breezing past Asahi and listening carefully at the door. “We don’t know how many there are, or where they are, but they haven’t made a move yet.”

“What did I…” Asahi tried, brain fogging. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Did something happen?” Nishinoya asked. “Is someone here?” His eyes were already wide, but when the next footstep came, no longer on gravel but on the wood of the porch, they blew as big as they could get. An arc of electricity crackled across his face and this was bad, so much worse than Asahi could have ever _imagined_ …

“I’ll explain later,” Oikawa hushed.

Then someone broke down the door and it didn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

Everyone is dying.

Slowly, for the most part. Evenly. Incrementally.

Ryuunosuke knew this. He knew it even as he was sitting, his hands tied in his lap, Ushijima Wakatoshi himself standing behind his chair like a bouncer as the timid Seijoh physician told him that his heart looked like that of a fifty-year-old. That his kidneys weren’t working like they were supposed to. That the tingling in his fingertips and swelling at his knuckles was rheumatoid arthritis.

“If it’s progeria it’s not like anything I’ve seen,” the doctor said, looking up at Ushijima like she was going to be eaten. “And it’s so rapid. When I compare his tests now to those from a couple years ago…”

The doctor trailed off and Ushijima cleared his throat, not angrily but expectantly. “…the majority of these conditions appear to have developed in the last two years.”

Ryuu wasn’t allowed to speak so he didn’t. Ushijima’s face was controlled as always, inscrutable and intense. “Do we know the cause?”

The doctor smiled quickly, appeasingly, and then looked down at the papers on her desk. “Well, I don’t know the exact cause, but…” she shuffled through papers as quickly as she could, looking for one in particular. Ryuu’s eyes were glued to the leg of her desk.

“The appearance of some of the…issues— _conditions_ —coincides with the planned increase in his mass and quantity trials.”

Ushijima placed a large hand on Ryuu’s shoulder and Ryuu shivered away, shooting a venom-less glare up at the director. The hand remained. “So it could be a consequence of his abilities,” he said, voice uninflected.

“It could,” the doctor said. “It could be placing added strain on his body. We don’t know the exact _mechanism_ of control, of course, but there could be a connection between the increased volume of testing and, well…”

Ryuu didn’t want to hear any more, but at the same time he was struck with perverse curiosity.

“If I may…have there been any especially large mass trials in the past week?” the doctor asked, purposefully missing Ryuu’s eyes to look up at Ushijima. She hadn’t looked directly at Ryuu the entire time. He didn’t expect her to. By now he was used to being a test subject, and nobody ever looked into the eyes of a lab mouse.

“There have,” Ushijima said, and the doctor paused like she was waiting to get more information. When it became clear that was all that Ushijima was planning to say, she smiled again and nodded. Ryuu snorted softly. Two weeks before, he’d pretended to struggle with their 150-metric-ton weight— they’d gotten excited and in the past week they’d decided to up the weight by another 50 tons. He was tired and had been feeling spiteful so when they dropped it he took it and launched it through the roof of the lab, causing a frantic lockdown.

“His cholesterol spiked dramatically from last week,” the doctor said. “Along with blood pressure. His thyroid has also been experiencing some issues…this is all sort of uncharted territory, but he appears to be _aging_.”

“More than normal, you mean,” Ushijima said, and if Ryuu didn’t know better he might have thought it was an attempt at a joke. Ushiwaka wouldn’t know a sense of humor if he did a million tests on it, though, so it was just a nice thought.

“A lot more than normal,” the doctor said. She finally glanced at Ryuu and he gave a bitter, flat-mouthed smile. “He’s beginning to experience some symptoms we would usually consider age-related…some of them generally don’t start to appear until fifty or sixty.”

Ryuu tensed, eyes flicking up to the doctor. “Fifty,” he said, speaking for the first time. The hand on his shoulder tightened but Ushijima said nothing.

“Well, there’s no way to say for sure,” the doctor said quickly, raising her hands in surrender. “I know I’m not authorized to make any major decisions, but—” her hands drooped “—I’d say to be careful with upcoming testing. We don’t know how rapidly the aging process occurs, or with what stimuli.”

Ushijima nodded and the hand left Ryuu’s shoulder. “Bring me copies of all of 0-4-1-3-1-8’s examinations and bloodwork.”

The doctor squeaked. “How far back?”

“All of them. By tomorrow at ten,” Ushijima repeated, and then he tugged on Ryuu’s shoulder. Ryuu stood and let himself be led out the door.

At first he was forbidden from using his power. For about a week and a half they kept him in containment, cancelling his scheduled tests and doing so much bloodwork they ended up just leaving an IV catheter in his arm. Ryuu had a lot of time to process the information.

So he was aging too fast, probably because of his power, probably proportionally to the amount of force used. He didn’t know how. They didn’t seem to either. He had time to come up with theories, ways that the aging could logically work. Maybe the universe was making up for lost time and he had to pay the amount it would have taken him to do a complex telekinetic task with his own hands. Maybe he had some weird preexisting condition and use of the power just made it worse. Maybe someone was poisoning him.

He said nothing to Noya or Daichi, and especially not to the new girl, a shy but intense elemental vector, just like Nishinoya. It was unfortunate that he’d already aged so much, but now that they’d caught it he just had to focus on minimizing any further damage. Ryuu didn’t like to linger. If he did he’d already have gone out of his mind. He was good at being utilitarian.

Then the accident happened, and the façade of nonchalance that he’d worked so hard to build crumbled.

Everyone heard the explosion, and they quarantined everyone in the old wing, restrained and quiet. Then they showed up to take Ryuu with them, lab coats and work gloves and when they took him down to the lowest level his blood turned to ice.

The body was so small. Thin, calm, peaceful, an artificial respirator sending oxygen into tiny lungs and a dialysis machine cycling out two liters of blood. Tubes, wires, an IV with nutrients. Negligible brain activity. Persistent vegetative state. No hope of recovery on his own.

They sat Ryuu down and told him that he was their last chance. The control he had over his power was fine enough, accurate enough, and they wanted him to go down to the smallest level and reactivate the boy’s neurons, restart his brain, bring him back to life. He was too valuable for research, too important. Too young.

What an unfortunate accident, they said, like they hadn’t caused it.

For three months they brought Ryuu into the basement, deep under the bay, and he tried.

He didn’t know how brains worked, or what needed to be moving and firing and active for someone to be alive. He could move a hundred million individual ball bearings at a time. There were more than a hundred _billion_ neurons in the human brain, ten times that many glial cells, individual molecules of hormones and blood and everything had to be moving in exactly the right way at every single second. Electrical signals had to be functioning. Ryuu watched as each protein moved.

After a month they said it was okay. He was learning. Soon he’d be able to do it. They could wait.

After two they said he wasn’t trying hard enough. The arthritis worsened and he started taking aspirin every day.

At three months someone came in and told Ryuu that they were removing him from the project. He wasn’t making real progress. They didn’t say that if he were better the kid wouldn’t still be dead. That was okay. Ryuu thought it for them.

A tremor started in his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

“She’s not going to finish the churros in time,” Tsukishima said, lips pursed.

Yamaguchi snickered and settled back in his seat. On the screen a countdown timer flashed. Twenty-five seconds. The woman was plucking churros one-by-one out of a pot and frantically drying them off. Fifteen seconds. She couldn’t find her powdered sugar. Ten seconds.

“Too much cinnamon,” Yamaguchi commented. Tsukishima nodded absently, eyes fixed to the screen.

“Way too much cinnamon,” he agreed. “She should’ve just rolled them in white sugar.”

“Gah!” Yamaguchi hissed, relaxing and covering his eyes with his hands as the timer zeroed out. “She missed a plate.”

“Did everyone else get everything plated?”

“I think so. Doesn’t look like the bald guy got his pomegranate sauce on everything, though.”

Yamaguchi looked over to Tsukishima, whose legs were curled up to his chest as he watched the screen intently. His lip curled in what looked like disgust, but even though Yamaguchi was out of practice he could tell that it was just concentration. Tsukishima grunted and Yamaguchi realized that he wasn’t even watching the show anymore. He blinked and glanced back. The best thing about on-demand TV was the lack of commercial breaks, so they were getting right to the judging.

“Bet you it’s the woman with the tattoos,” Yamaguchi said. Tsukishima’s eyes shot over and he looked like Yamaguchi had turned into a monster.

“She doesn’t have a single wafer in her entire dessert,” Tsukishima said.

“They’re on the plate!”

“Off to the side,” Tsukishima shot back. “Like potato chips. It doesn’t count.”

Yamaguchi rolled his eyes. “Who do you think has it?”

“Mr. Bald didn’t get the pomegranate on a plate but he did the most with the prompt.”

“We’ll just have to see,” Yamaguchi said cryptically. “Money’s on tattoos.”

“Bald.”

“You can think that if you want.”

Yamaguchi could feel the glow of annoyance wafting off of Tsukishima, the feeling mixing with something different—something warm. They hadn’t spoken about the incident two nights before. Tsukishima had come home sometime around three in the morning and Yamaguchi had tried to go to sleep.

“Oh no,” Tsukishima said, voice ghostly.

Yamaguchi realized that he’d been watching Tsukishima again. He looked back to the screen and his eyes widened.

“No.”

“He didn’t.”

The bald guy had his head in his hands and the judges were standing. One was covering her mouth and everything seemed very disorganized. They zoomed in on one of the plates—next to the shortcake there was a small, red smudge.

“When did he cut himself?” Yamaguchi asked. Tsukishima shrugged, face bunched up in a long-form wince. “What are they going to do?”

One of the other judges was talking about how dangerous it was, unforgivable, and the bald guy looked like he was about to cry, once he got over the empty shock on his face. “I don’t know,” Tsukishima said. “I’ve never seen them actually eat something that could have had blood on it.”

“Well,” Yamaguchi started tentatively, eyes glued to the screen. “If he couldn’t get the pomegranate sauce on all the plates…”

Tsukishima’s head whipped around, pure disgust and shock pulling at his features. He stared at Yamaguchi for a long moment and Yamaguchi held the eye contact, trying his absolute hardest to keep his face blank. Then, without warning, Tsukishima burst into laughter.

It wasn’t the little chuckle he offered sarcastically, or the snort reserved for dumb lines in movies. It was a full laugh, higher than his voice usually was, uncontrollable. Yamaguchi broke and joined in, half at how Tsukishima was covering his face with his hands, fingers sliding under his glasses as he fought to catch his breath.

“That’s terrible!” Tsukishima squeaked out, turning to face Yamaguchi, knees almost high enough to cover his face as well, and any attempt Yamaguchi was making to keep his laughter low dissolved. He shook and leaned over against the armrest.

“Imagine if—” Tsukishima started, but he burst into more giggles, cutting himself off. “What is wrong with me?” he gasped. “I’m losing it.”

Yamaguchi was losing it too, because he’d never seen Tsukishima laugh like this. He cackled and doubled over. Tsukishima started to cool himself down and took a deep breath, taking his glasses off entirely and hooking them in the front of his shirt as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“You have no idea,” he started once he had his breath back, “how hard it is not to project.”

“What?” Yamaguchi asked, still caught up in watching Tsukishima’s face, laugh lingering in a dopey smile.

“Just now. We could’ve gotten stuck in a loop. I laugh, I project that onto you, you laugh, I feel it, I project, et cetera.” Tsukishima let out a long breath, lips forming an “o”. He let his head fall back and his feet slid off the couch to the floor. “Happened once. Bad time.”

Yamaguchi felt the swell of something deep within him, and he smiled despite himself. Tsukishima lived with his guard up, a wall a hundred meters high, but here he was, laughing so hard he cried, curled up on Yamaguchi’s couch in plaid boxers and the same t-shirt he’d slept in, a clip holding his hair off of his forehead.

The realization didn’t come with surprise or uncertainty—it stabilized Yamaguchi, a fire down to just glowing embers in his chest, heat radiating down to his fingers and toes as nothing short of elation.

He liked Tsukishima so much it hurt. It was different from when he was younger. It didn’t come with the same awe or aching. It was smooth and solid and didn’t require anything. It felt permanent, written under his skin.

He hadn’t even noticed that Tsukishima had lifted his head, eyes carefully blank but searching. Yamaguchi swallowed, but he wasn’t nervous. He reached out his hand, palm up, and he watched as Tsukishima took it.

“Close your eyes,” Yamaguchi said. Tsukishima sucked in a short breath, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Close your eyes. Please.”

“Why?” Tsukishima asked suspiciously.

“Close your eyes and just feel what I’m feeling,” Yamaguchi said softly. He ran his thumb along Tsukishima’s knuckles. “What I feel when I see you.”

Tsukishima’s Adam’s apple bobbed and Yamaguchi thought for a moment he might refuse. It didn’t matter if he did or not. Yamaguchi smiled lightly and tried to let himself be open, unguarded. After a second he looked up at Tsukishima’s face.

Tsukishima’s eyes were closed, and Yamaguchi smiled despite himself, letting the rush of affection overtake him. As it came Tsukishima stiffened, hand tensing in Yamaguchi’s grip. His face was uncomfortable but the fact that Yamaguchi could _see_ it was still nothing short of incredible. He was here, breathing, his hand heavy in Yamaguchi’s. His nose was narrower than Yamaguchi’s. Without his glasses he looked younger, and there were two red marks by his nose where the pads sat.

He was beautiful, and Yamaguchi thought about how he’d felt every time he’d seen Tsukishima’s face in high school. The glances he’d steal when Tsukishima wasn’t looking. The way that Tsukishima would let their hands touch on the bus, how Tsukishima would confide in him, late at night, even when he didn’t realize he was doing it.

The way Tsukishima had felt in his arms when he’d stumbled through the door, cold, tired, alive. The way he’d _chosen,_ when trying to find somewhere to escape to, Yamaguchi. How he’d give snarky commentary on a movie, just loud enough that Yamaguchi could hear it. How he pretended not to care but remembered when Yamaguchi’s birthday was, what his favorite brand of tea was. How the persona he let the world see was not the one Yamaguchi got to see.

Yamaguchi didn’t know if it was love. There had been years of friendship before, but they were both so different now and it had only been a week.

But his chest hurt when Tsukishima was upset, and he knew it wasn’t just Tsukishima projecting because the _idea_ of him being upset did the same thing. He loved coming home and seeing him there. He loved eating lunch quietly at the island in the kitchen, Tsukishima’s head all the way in a book and Yamaguchi scrolling through his phone. He loved being in the same place, loved being able to look up and just see Tsukishima’s face.

Tsukishima took in a sudden breath and opened his eyes, focusing intently on Yamaguchi. His face was blank but Yamaguchi could see the edges of something deeper around his eyes. “Tadashi,” he said, like it was going to lead into something else.

“That’s what it feels like,” Yamaguchi said quietly. “I know it’s not the same as before. I’m sorry if it’s not enough.”

“Tadashi,” Tsukishima repeated. Yamaguchi scooched over and wrapped his arms tentatively around Tsukishima’s waist, resting his forehead on Tsukishima’s shoulder. Tsukishima was stiff against him but after a moment long arms curled around him, sitting there softly before Yamaguchi heard a sniff and then he was being crushed against Tsukishima’s chest.

They stayed that way for a long time. The heater in the bedroom hummed and the clock ticked, but Yamaguchi could only hear the slow brush of Tsukishima’s breath and feel Tsukishima’s heartbeat against his own chest. Tsukishima’s hands were cold but his body was warm.

“You know,” Yamaguchi said as Tsukishima’s embrace finally began to loosen, “When you left…I still felt the same. Even when you were gone. It wasn’t just you. I don’t know what you feel from me but you just have to trust me. Please.”

Tsukishima pulled back just enough to look at Yamaguchi properly. He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he nodded, eyes sharp with understanding and uncertainty.

“I…um…” he started, but no words seemed to be forming.

“You can project,” Yamaguchi said, looking down to Tsukishima’s neck, his chest. He was so warm. “Onto me. You don’t have to hold it back.”

 Tsukishima eyed him warily. “I can’t.”

“If you really don’t want to you don’t have to,” Yamaguchi said quickly. “It’s just nice to know.”

Tsukishima swallowed and Yamaguchi could feel a large hand playing absently with the hem of his shirt. Yamaguchi could feel his apprehension, drifting off of him like the warmth of his skin, and he pursed his lips. He probably shouldn’t have asked. Too much too fast.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Never mind.”

“No,” Tsukishima said. Yamaguchi’s eyes flicked up. Tsukishima was watching the TV but it didn’t look like he was actually paying attention—his eyes were narrow and his nose was sharp. “I don’t know. I should. It’s just…” he rolled his eyes and shook his head to clear it. “Dangerous.”

“They’re just emotions,” Yamaguchi said. “No matter how strong they are.”

Tsukishima laughed, not the real laugh from before but a single huff. “Just emotions,” he repeated with a grim smile. “Not with me.”

Yamaguchi pulled back a bit and Tsukishima let him go. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tsukki.”

“I don’t know how to just…share what I’m feeling,” Tsukishima said after a moment, squinting at nothing in particular. “I’m very good at _intensifying_ emotions. I can make you feel whatever I want and I can control it and I’m just scared—” he stopped and closed his eyes, grimacing at nothing in particular. “Never mind. New topic.” He gestured vaguely toward the TV. “Tattoos won.”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi repeated softly. “What are you scared of?”

“I’m really good at ruining things,” Tsukishima said snippily. “It’s a hobby.”

“If you could ruin this you would have done it already,” Yamaguchi said. “Don’t get caught up in your own head. Can we just…I gave a pretty good confession just now. I’m not going to let it go ignored.”

Tsukishima snorted and Yamaguchi found his hand again. “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘pretty good,’” Tsukishima said.

“Great, then. Amazing. Perfect.”

“It was fine.”

 _“Tsukki,”_ Yamaguchi complained. Tsukishima raised his eyebrows in a challenge. “Okay, I could’ve done better. But you keeping everything in like that is just going to make you emotionally constipated.”

“I wasn’t already?”

“Oh my god.”

Tsukishima didn’t smile but his eyes were lighter. Yamaguchi smiled for him and when their eyes met he knew what was going to happen. He pushed himself forward and up, just slowly enough, and their lips met.

It didn’t come with the same surge of emotion as last time—on the one hand Tsukishima was probably holding back, but on the other the emotion itself seemed to be different. A glow rather than a burn, warm rather than hot, solid rather than urgent. Yamaguchi squeezed Tsukishima’s hand and smiled into the kiss.

“I like you,” he said against Tsukishima’s lips.

Tsukishima snorted. “I hope so.”

“Even though you’re terrible.”

“Asshole is my personality,” Tsukishima said, and this time he initiated the kiss. Yamaguchi hummed and deepened it, running his tongue across Tsukishima’s bottom lip.

The slide of Tsukishima’s lips against his own made Yamaguchi’s head spin. Long fingers danced up his arm and then slid into his hair and he sighed. Yamaguchi felt like laughing for no reason at all.

After a minute or so Tsukishima broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Yamaguchi’s. “I know we’re not talking about it, but…” He trailed off and wrinkled his nose in the way that meant he wasn’t planning on continuing.

“Hm?” Yamaguchi prompted, thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of Tsukishima’s hand. Their breaths met between them.

“Never mind.”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi sang, tilting his head up to press a tiny kiss to Tsukishima’s nose.

“The other night,” Tsukishima continued, sounding a little pained. Yamaguchi’s smile fell.

“Yeah.” Was it going to be something bad? Yamaguchi was ready to talk about it if it was absolutely necessary but he didn’t particularly want to, not now.

Tsukishima squeezed his eyes shut and then reopened them, resignation mixing with determination in his gaze. “I liked it when you…ugh, lame.” He clicked his tongue. “I want you on my lap again.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes blew wide and he felt all the blood in his body shoot southward. “Really? Do you want me to—”

“If you want,” Tsukishima cut him off, voice practiced and even, looking everywhere but Yamaguchi’s face.

Yamaguchi blinked and then nodded so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. At once he was up, throwing a leg over Tsukishima’s and settling his hands on Tsukishima’s shoulders. He settled his weight forward, lower body flush with Tsukishima’s torso.

“That was quick,” Tsukishima said, voice strained.

“I liked it too,” Yamaguchi said, heart rate picking up. Tsukishima’s hands floated and then settled on his waist. “That’s why I did it.”

“Right,” Tsukishima said absently.

Yamaguchi leaned down and fit their mouths together again, cupping Tsukishima’s jaw and pulling him closer. Tsukishima obliged, grip tightening on Yamaguchi’s hips. The room had been a little bit cool—that was how Yamaguchi liked it, even in winter—but now everything was hot, despite the goosebumps forming on Yamaguchi’s arms as Tsukishima’s hands dipped under his shirt and trailed small circles at the base of his spine.

Tsukishima kissed away from Yamaguchi’s mouth and down to his neck, and Yamaguchi let out a small, uncontrollable noise. Tsukishima’s mouth was so soft but when he passed over the vein under Yamaguchi’s skin he sucked in a stuttering breath, feeling himself grow harder against Tsukishima’s stomach. His forehead came to rest on Tsukishima’s shoulder and then he rolled his hips forward.

Tsukishima tensed and his grip on Yamaguchi’s hips tightened almost painfully. Yamaguchi stilled and grimaced.

“Sorry,” he said lightly. “Too much?”

Tsukishima shook his head quickly and Yamaguchi leaned back a little. He caught a look at Tsukishima’s face and he felt his stomach drop in the best way possible. Tsukishima’s eyes were intense, _wanting_ , and his mouth was parted just lightly. He licked at his lips, eyes drilling holes through Yamaguchi.

“I’m going to…I have to…” he swallowed. “I have to project. It’s too hard not to.”

Yamaguchi blinked and then nodded. “Yeah. Good.” Then the implications of the statement really hit him and he sucked in a breath. Tsukishima _needing_ to let go of his emotions, it being too hard for him not to—Tsukishima losing control and Yamaguchi being the one to make him do it. He rocked his hips forward again and Tsukishima’s breath hitched. “Please.”

Tsukishima squeezed his eyes shut and his hands finally started to move, sliding up to Yamaguchi’s sides. “Get ready,” he said softly, and Yamaguchi was already shivering, and there was no real warning.

The feeling rushed into Yamaguchi so quickly he gasped, body jolting forward into Tsukishima’s. It was a million things at once—need, and desire, and excitement, along with apprehension and nerves. There was something else under it all, the bedrock upon which everything was built, swirling through Yamaguchi’s chest—it was awe. Wonder and happiness and an _I’m not worthy_ that Yamaguchi thought might even be his own. It was like he was surrounded by a thick cloud—glowing and warm but impenetrable.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Is this what you…”

“It’s probably stronger for you,” Tsukishima said, sounding nothing less than relieved.

Yamaguchi’s body suddenly felt heavy and unwieldy. He leaned in to kiss Tsukishima and another wave of untampered emotion swept over him, impossibly strong and demanding all of his attention. He stilled and let his forehead rest against Tsukishima’s, suddenly breathing heavily and not quite understanding why.

“Tsukki,” he said.

“Is it too much?” Tsukishima asked, and something about his voice made Yamaguchi want to hear it forever. His breath was hot against Yamaguchi’s lips, not quite touching but so close he could almost feel it. Yamaguchi shook his head and then nodded and then shrugged and wasn’t sure which one he meant.

“I want…” he started, but he didn’t know what he wanted. It was starting to even out, maybe, or he was getting used to it, but there were still so many things swirling inside him at once.

Tsukishima’s hands drifted from his waist, down the tops of his thighs, stretched across Tsukishima’s legs. Yamaguchi let out a shaky breath and another wave of emotion fell over him, this one specific and small and very intentional.

 _Relax_ , is what he was feeling. He opened his eyes and looked at Tsukishima, searching for something in his gaze but not sure what. “Is that you?”

Tsukishima nodded but didn’t say anything, and then his hands drifted to the insides of Yamaguchi’s thighs, trailing upward. Yamaguchi’s hands gripped Tsukishima’s shoulders so tightly it was probably painful.

The feeling of relaxation came again. It was warm and comfortable and Yamaguchi really, really wanted to relax, but everything was happening so much in his head and he couldn’t put it all together. Tsukishima pressed his palm against Yamaguchi’s erection through his pajama pants and Yamaguchi let out a low whine. It felt so much better than it should. It was barely anything, pressure and movement but maybe they really were more than _just emotions_ and everything around him was so intense.

“Tsukki,” he managed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Yamaguchi said immediately. He leaned down and kissed softly down Tsukishima’s neck, stopping to breathe roughly against his collarbone when Tsukishima’s hand started to move. “Wait,” he started again, trying to organize his brain. “I just want to kiss you, can we just…”

Tsukishima nodded and Yamaguchi could see that his movements were a little jerkier, harder to control. Their lips met and Tsukishima’s hand worked Yamaguchi slowly through his pants.

“It is stronger,” Tsukishima murmured against his mouth. “For you—I can feel it…” He sucked in a breath and his next kiss was harder, rougher. Yamaguchi whined in the back of his throat, hands diving into Tsukishima’s hair and down his back.

Another wave of emotion crashed over Yamaguchi’s head, somehow stronger, more pointed, more intense. At this point it wasn’t even the same as before—Yamaguchi knew it was more than it would be normally, that there were supernatural forces intensifying it, but it still felt so real and immediate. He was there and he was touching Tsukishima and he felt like crying because maybe he was actually in love.

Tsukishima’s hand stilled and then moved to grip his upper thigh tightly. Yamaguchi breathed shakily, eyes squeezed shut, and he realized that they weren’t even kissing anymore.

“Shit,” Tsukishima whispered, realizing at about the same time as Yamaguchi. He took in a big breath, enough that Yamaguchi felt it against his chest, and then he pulled back, eyes sharp but distant.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi whimpered, and he thought that might be the only thing he remembered how to say.

Moment by moment Yamaguchi could feel his head clearing. Tsukishima’s eyes seemed fixed on something just past Yamaguchi’s head, and as Yamaguchi caught his breath he leaned back a little, so they weren’t breathing the same air. The fog of emotion, the love, the overwhelming need to be as close to Tsukishima as possible, slowly dimmed. It wasn’t leaving entirely—some of it was from Yamaguchi’s own head—but after a certain point his senses returned all at once and he sighed.

“I’m an idiot,” Tsukishima said plainly. Yamaguchi snorted, all of his muscles relaxing. He was suddenly exhausted.

“What now?” Yamaguchi asked. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and winced a little, shifting his back.

“That was another loop,” he said. “I make you feel something, it’s stronger for you, I feel it from you, I project it stronger, ad nauseam. We were literally _just_ talking about it, and I forgot. Hence idiot.”

“Hm,” Yamaguchi hummed and ran his hands through Tsukishima hair softly. “Is that going to happen every time? Should I prepare myself?”

“Not if I’m not a dumbass,” Tsukishima drawled.

Yamaguchi laughed, half to relieve the tension in his gut. “It was fun.”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima said. “The catatonia is the best part.”

“Hey, it was hot for a while,” Yamaguchi offered, and Tsukishima wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah, well. See ‘I’m good at ruining things’ above.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Yamaguchi said, suddenly serious. “You didn’t ruin anything.” He pressed a kiss to Tsukishima’s forehead, lingering there. “It just shows that you like me.”

Tsukishima cleared his throat and shrugged, eyes averting to the couch. “If that’s what you want to take from it.”

“Hey,” Yamaguchi nudged. “You were ten seconds from giving me a handjob and now you’re embarrassed that you like me?”

“Goddammit.”

“I can’t believe I used to think you were cool,” Yamaguchi ribbed lightly.

“I can’t believe I like you,” Tsukishima deadpanned back.

“But you do,” Yamaguchi said, delighted, and he pulled Tsukishima back up for a brief, soft kiss. He hummed. “Thank you.”

“For liking you?”

“For letting me feel it.”

Tsukishima grunted and Yamaguchi laughed, and it seemed like things were going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

Asahi didn’t have enough time to be surprised before a hand was around his wrist and he was pulled toward the kitchen. There were about four people, all in black, with big enough guns that Asahi’s heart jumped into his throat. His brain was still foggy--what was he supposed to do with the tracker? Oikawa said he’d broken his. The hand pulling his was Oikawa’s, and he wanted to ask, but everything was moving too quickly.

“Get down!” a voice yelled. Big guns. They broke the wall. They’d just jumped through the wall.

Oikawa pulled him around the corner and his shoulder hit the doorframe. It was the oddest feeling, like he was floating. Like he wasn’t really there. They’d been found, he thought absently. There were people here to take them back. They were probably going to kill him.

Oikawa was talking, but Asahi’s eyes wouldn’t land on anything and he couldn’t hear clearly. There were shouts, and Nishinoya was up against the counters, sparking and glowing a searing, radioactive yellow. Oikawa’s eyes were as sharp as ever, and Asahi had no idea how quickly time had been moving, or how much had passed.

“We’re armed!” Oikawa yelled. He looked at Asahi expectantly. Asahi blinked and then fumbled with his pocket, pulling out the pistol.

“It’s too small,” he said breathlessly.

“It’s gonna keep them the fuck back,” Oikawa hissed. “Get your head back on.”

Asahi nodded and cocked the pistol, holding it with two hands and pointing it unsteadily at the door to the main room.

“Drop the weapon, kiss the ground!” a voice called back at them. Oikawa put a finger to his lips and then tapped his head, the only warning before Asahi felt the uncomfortable slip of another mind in his.

 _Calm down,_ came the feeling into his head. They weren’t words, not really, not in Oikawa’s voice. The sense of the thoughts came instead. _Calm down_. Asahi took a breath. _We need to think_. _Yuu’s going to get pretty messed up if we don’t think._

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nishinoya whispered, as if on cue. His eyes were wide and bright yellow. Asahi turned to him, his brain starting to catch up with his body.

“It’s okay,” he said, and then it hit him all at once, the floating, dissociating feeling replaced by adrenaline and a remarkably clear head. There were people in the house and they needed to leave. “It’s okay.”

“Five seconds!” the voice from the main room yelled, and Asahi’s jaw started trembling. He clenched it and shifted the gun to one hand, still holding it up to the doorway. With his other hand he reached for Nishinoya. An arc of electricity snapped into his fingers and up his arm, and he recoiled.

“Sorry!” Nishinoya cried, hands gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were white. “How did they find us? How did…”

“Noya,” Asahi said levelly, and then Oikawa stepped into the doorway.

“You shoot me and Ushiwaka’s going to kill you,” he said to the people in black, and Asahi marveled at the amount of surety it must have taken.

 _Window above the sink_ , Asahi felt in his mind. He nodded even though Oikawa couldn’t see.

Nishinoya stumbled away from the counter, looking back at it. He must have gotten the same message. He stared at the window. “You’re not gonna fit.”

“You’re surrounded!” another voice yelled. “Surrender and nobody gets hurt.”

“You can’t touch us,” Oikawa said, and Asahi could see out the window another couple people in tactical gear.

 _Window’s a bust,_ he thought, hoping Oikawa picked up on it.

Nishinoya was breathing heavily, arms shaking and glowing so brightly he was almost hard to look at. Asahi wasn’t sure if he could touch him, or if that would just get himself electrocuted. “Noya, they’re not going to hurt you. I’m here. It’s okay.” It didn’t mean anything that Asahi was there—he was most likely to run anyway—but it was one of the only platitudes he could think of.

“I’m not going back,” Nishinoya whispered, almost inaudibly. “I’m not going back I’m not going back I’m not going back.”

Oikawa stepped back, hands up. “We’ll go quietly if you put down the fucking guns,” he said, and Asahi recognized the patronizing tone he usually found annoying. “You keep escalating this and Thunder’s going to have a meltdown.”

“Head on the floor, hands above your head,” the order came again. Oikawa glanced back at Asahi and his eyes were searching. Uncertain. Asahi’s stomach turned. If Oikawa didn’t know what they were going to do then no one did.

It didn’t really matter, of course, because one of the task force pushed forward into the kitchen and Nishinoya gasped, burst of electricity crackling out of his body and making Asahi taste metal. His hands seized around the gun and he stumbled back just as the bulb in the ceiling light popped. The person in black’s step stuttered and they raised the gun to their shoulder.

“Go away!” Nishinoya cried, eyes squeezing shut. Another burst—like some kind of solar flare—swept out of him, like lightning in the air. It spread out around him, hot, white lines searching the walls and ceiling and leaving trails of black behind them. The kitchen was impossibly bright and Asahi had to shield his eyes.

 _Get up, get out_ , the sense of Oikawa’s thoughts nudged at him. Nishinoya’s ball of lightning was growing and there was nowhere to go. Asahi felt his skin prickling and could see tiny arcs of electricity between his fingers and the gun. The person in black who had come into the kitchen was yelling something to the others and trying to retreat back into the main room.

 _Frying pan_ , Asahi felt in his mind. _Cabinet. I’m going to calm Yuu down but I have to concentrate so you need to keep them back._

Asahi’s eyes darted around. At once Oikawa fell back, putting distance between himself and the task force. At the same time Nishinoya groaned and his hands flew to his forehead, the glow flaring even as the lightning died, pulling back into his body. Without the overhead light the room was dark.

Asahi whipped open a cabinet and pulled out the first pan he saw—it wasn’t particularly big but it was old and sturdy. Oikawa’s eyes were fixed forward, looking almost scared, but Asahi could see Nishinoya curling into himself and whining. Oikawa must have been in his head.

“Noya,” he breathed, not knowing which way to go.

“I got him,” Oikawa gritted, eyes flicking to Asahi momentarily, the vein in his neck straining and visible. He was concentrating so hard Asahi could see his eyes flicking back and forth absently, like a jitter.

Asahi went for the kitchen door, shooting one last worried glance at Nishinoya, who was leaning over the kitchen counter like it was the only think keeping him upright. Oikawa’s head fell back against the lower cabinets and he was breathing very evenly. The frying pan wasn’t heavy enough to do much damage, especially if the people in black were wearing as much tactical gear as Asahi thought, but he could certainly get someone out of the way with it.

As it was he went gun-first, finger twitching on the trigger. “Get back!” he yelled. As long as he had the gun he was okay, he told himself. He might not have any magic powers or tactical knowledge but he knew which part would send a bullet at anyone who tried to threaten them. As he rounded the corner he froze, almost losing all the nerve he’d built up.

There were four of them, and they all had huge guns. Overkill guns. As big as the gun Iwaizumi had had in the street, and just one of them had been enough to send Asahi into a panic. It was sobering. Asahi wanted to run. He couldn’t. So many conflicting things were clear to him at once, staring down the barrels of four matching submachine guns. Where did they even get these, in Japan of all places? He’d gotten his own pistol accidentally, but he’d never seen anyone, even police on TV, with guns this big.

At the same time the situation felt oddly familiar. Nishinoya groaning and clutching at his head, sparks of electricity searching the walls and floor and counters. Oikawa in plainclothes, pushing himself into Nishinoya’s head to prevent an explosion. Asahi, with a gun smaller than his hand, hopelessly outclassed and trying to hold on.

Asahi didn’t want to believe what Oikawa had told him earlier, but it was his best defense at the moment. “If you don’t get back he’s going to blow up and take us all with him,” he said, hoping the shaking of his hands wasn’t visible.

“Karasu-san,” he heard Nishinoya say with immense effort. Asahi’s breath caught and he forced himself not to look back.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice softening despite the clench in his jaw. “We’re okay. I got them.”

“Last warning,” one of the people said, gesturing at the floor with their gun, and Asahi had a sudden image of the trigger being pulled, the sound hitting him at the same time as the bullets. He’d die. There was no way they could all fire and keep him alive. He shook his head.

“You can’t shoot us,” he said, and he’d never believed anything less in his entire life. “I can shoot you but you can’t shoot us. We’re going outside.”

“Azumane,” one of the people said. “Unpowered, non-essential. You have five seconds to get on the ground.” Then, to the others, “On my mark.”

“Karasu-san,” Nishinoya said again, fainter. Five seconds. Asahi held the pistol firm, frying pan in his other hand like a club. “Don’t touch him,” even fainter. “I’ll kill you.” Two seconds.

At once the resolve that had been keeping Asahi focused dissolved into sudden panic and his hand shook. What was his little gun going to do? He wanted to run. He wanted to run far away and not have to worry about any of this. One second. He didn’t want to die.

“Move in!”

Three of the people rushed forward, and if Asahi had the presence of mind he might have swung with the frying pan. Instead he watched dumbly as, instead of a litany of gunshots, he got footsteps and black-clad bodies passing him. Running. Not shooting. Running past him like he wasn’t even there, wasn’t holding a gun.

“Wait,” he said, “Wait!”

His senses came rushing back and he turned as the three others in black passed him and one started into the kitchen. He saw Oikawa get to his feet and then there was the press of a muzzle against Asahi’s back.

“Wait!” he called again. Oikawa stumbled and clutched at his head.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

“Fuck!” Oikawa returned to Asahi. “I don't have him anymore!”

At once every hair on Asahi's arms stood on end, and that was the only warning he got before something hit the wall--a body--and the kitchen erupted into tingly, blue, _audible_ light. Oikawa kicked at one of the guns in his way and got out of the kitchen just as a bolt of lightning blasted the far wall. The man with the gun behind Asahi was distracted, and before Asahi even registered that there was someone in his head he'd already handed the frying pan to Oikawa and it had made contact just below the man's helmet. He reeled, and another blast came from the kitchen.

Asahi turned and bolted toward the light. As he reached the door a body hit the ground in front of him, jerking once and then not moving. Asahi's heart jumped into his throat.

“Nishinoya!” he called, voice hoarse. “It's okay! Calm down!”

“We have to get out!” Oikawa yelled from behind him.

“Nishinoya!” Asahi tried again. “ _Yuu!_ They're down! They can't hurt you!”

“Out!” Oikawa yelled. “Ugh! You know what? Fuck it!” Asahi heard footsteps tap behind him and out the door.

The arcs of electricity searching the walls and ceiling were buzzing and the air smelled like ozone. Asahi clenched his jaw and stepped into the kitchen properly, shielding his eyes against the glare.

Nishinoya's head was thrown back, and his eyes were blazing so hotly yellow that they were white in the center. His skin was glowing as well, yellow in opposition to the bright white electricity that washed the room out to blue, freckles like constellations dotting his arms. His hands were out by his sides, palms up, and only his toes touched the ground. Asahi's mouth fell open.

“Noya,” he breathed. Nishinoya didn't seem to hear him.

Then, suddenly, there was a set of bright yellow eyes on him, impossibly wide. Asahi flinched involuntarily. Nishinoya raised a hand, limp at the wrist, and pointed at Asahi. His forefinger sparked to life and then a bolt of lightning cracked toward him. Asahi didn’t have time to react before the bolt jumped past him, smaller arcs catching on his skin and stinging.

He turned and flinched out of the way just as the person in black jolted and fell, body convulsing with the aftershocks. There had been someone behind him, he realized as he looked up back up to Nishinoya, mouth agape. The large gun clacked to the floor and slid on the tile.

Nishinoya was staring at him, face blank and eyes wide, unseeing. But he _had_ to have seen. Someone had been sneaking up behind Asahi and he’d blasted them out of the way. He’d unlocked Asahi’s handcuffs in the street. He could _control_ it.

“Nishinoya, please,” he murmured over the hum of the electricity. “You have to listen to me. You don’t have to be scared. You’re okay.”

Nishinoya let out a harsh breath and Asahi watched his mouth move aimlessly, not quite forming words. His raised arm drifted up around his head, hand dangling by his ear as his body rose and his torso tipped back, like he was falling upward toward the ceiling. He looked like he was in another universe. But he was in there somewhere, watching and thinking and _seeing_ and Asahi knew it.

“Do you remember the penguins?” Asahi asked. “Think about penguins!”

Nothing. A crackle of lightning sparked out of Nishinoya’s back and shot to the ceiling, searing the paint and leaving a trail of black behind it. As soon as it appeared it was gone. Asahi took a tentative step forward, Nishinoya’s blank, washed-out eyes still on him. He reached out his hand, carefully, tensed and ready for a jolt when the lightning found him and electrocuted him.

The jolt never came. Another spark danced away from Nishinoya’s body, and as it cut across the ceiling it hit the blown light. For a moment there was a glow from within the light, and then there was a buzz, loud and deep and stuttering, before there was a crack and the first puff of smoke entered the room.

“Shit,” Asahi breathed. Suddenly the light sparked, dropping glowing pieces of the ceiling with it. “Shit!” he cried as he ducked out of the way. Another flaming bit of ceiling fell, still on fire when it hit the floor.

 _It’s on fire? Are you fucking kidding me?_ Oikawa was in his head again.

“I’m sorry!” Asahi cried out loud. As he did a large chunk of something that was very much on fire landed on the floor, shattering and spraying burning chunks of wood across the tile. Asahi jumped back and then, with no time to think, lunged forward and grabbed Nishinoya by the hand.

At once his arm seized, but with the adrenaline the shock didn’t hurt as badly as he expected and the muscle contraction just solidified his grip. He jerked Nishinoya forward and out the kitchen door, nearly tripping over the limp arm of the person in black. The living room was empty. Asahi felt another jolt and his knees almost gave out under him. It was like something was stabbing his hand, at the same time as his funny bone was hit over and over, tingling uncomfortably.

Either way they were outside in just a moment and Asahi managed to pry his hand away from Nishinoya’s. Nishinoya stumbled and fell to his knees on the gravel. It was dark, but not dark enough to miss the five or six people with guns.

One of them was Oikawa, and he had the rifle neatly against his shoulder, pointed at the people in tactical gear. His coat sleeve was ripped and his hair was a mess.

“Thanks for joining the party,” he said thinly.

Nishinoya was pushing himself to his feet slowly and unsteadily, still glowing and sparking. He looked up and met Asahi’s eyes. Only his pupils were yellow now, but there was something in his gaze that Asahi couldn’t parse. Something wild. Something desperate.

“Karasu-san,” he gasped. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You don’t have to,” Asahi said, hand still gripping the pistol as tightly as he could. Oikawa’s attention was turned back to the people in black. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Drop the weapon,” a voice demanded, muffled by a black mask.

“Who trained you assholes?” Oikawa huffed. “You’re shit at this. Go home.”

“Last warning,” the voice ordered again. “Drop the weapon and get on the ground.”

“That was your third ‘last warning,’” Oikawa continued. Asahi could see the shine in his eyes, dangerous and sharp. “I haven’t seen any payout.”

_You have to shoot._

Asahi blinked, eyes widening. “What?”

_Shut up. They’re focused on me. Give me one good shot and I can get us out of here._

Nishinoya was standing with some difficulty. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered.

Asahi had to make a decision, and he had no time to make sure it was the right one. If he shot at them, there was a good chance they’d shoot back, and with Nishinoya behind him they could both get hit. On the other hand, Oikawa was good at this. If this wasn’t a trap there was no reason to believe that Oikawa was just bluffing. If he said he could get them out then he might be able to. It would be a test to see if they were actually going to shoot at him, he supposed, as he winced and pulled the trigger of the pistol.

His hands were ready for the kickback, his ears for the sound, his body to move out of the way as fast as possible, but none of that happened. Instead, to his sudden, numb horror, all he got was a hollow _click_.

Asahi tried again. _Click_. His eyes flicked to the people in front of him, their own functional guns now raised at him, and he suddenly felt so sick to his stomach he might vomit right there. He looked at the gun, turning it over in his hand, and then he saw it. He had no idea how he’d missed it before.

The magazine was gone, leaving the grip of the gun hollow. Asahi’s heart lurched and he had a sudden image of Iwaizumi patting him down, taking his gun, pulling out the magazine. _One round left_ , he’d said. And Asahi didn’t remember him popping the clip back in. This whole time he’d been walking around with an unloaded gun. Waving it around as a threat and unaware.

Panic swept over him like a swarm of bugs, everywhere and moving and buzzing loud enough to rival the ringing in his ears. Oikawa’s mouth parted and then he groaned in annoyance. A gunshot. Asahi whipped around just as Nishinoya flared again, eyes wide with fear. A crack came from the cabin and Asahi could see flames licking at the roof.

A crackling from behind him, this time, and then a jolt stronger and quicker than the tingling from Nishinoya blasted through Asahi’s torso. He doubled over, groaning involuntarily, as his back and stomach clenched. It hurt all over, like needles, like spikes in his skin, like his muscles were going to rip in half and he hit the ground hard.

 _“Karasu-san!”_ Nishinoya cried, louder than anything Asahi had ever heard him say. The pain lessened and he heard a boot crunch by his head. Had he been shot? No. A stun gun, he thought vaguely. A little handheld one. He’d never been shocked like that. It was so small.

There were shouts and then a _bang_ , quieter than a gunshot, and Asahi saw Nishinoya jerk. There were tiny, coiled wires attached to him. A taser. Asahi’s elbows didn’t want to hold him up but he pushed himself off the ground. Nishinoya’s body tensed but he didn’t fall, and then the electricity flared around him, blinding and audible and _tangible_. His hands flew out to his sides.

A visible spark flew down the wires connecting him to the person with the taser and Asahi watched as they jerked backwards, neck tensing and body stiffening before they fell to a heap on the ground. Asahi got to his knees and there was another gunshot, so close to his head the ringing in his ears was accompanied by temporary deafness. Nishinoya still had the wires in him.

“Help me,” he whispered, and even though Asahi couldn’t hear it he could see the words forming on his lips. Nishinoya’s eyes whited out, their afterimage following his head as he moved. _Help me_.

But how could Asahi help? What could he do? He couldn’t touch Nishinoya. He didn’t have a weapon. He was taken down by a tiny stun gun.

The reality of it all came crashing down on Asahi’s head. He didn’t have any powers. He didn’t have any skills in combat. He wasn’t brave, or trained for this, or smart enough to figure out how to get them out. He couldn’t see Oikawa or hear him in his head.

Asahi got to his feet and, ears barely registering the shouts around him, ran.

Nishinoya’s eyes didn’t follow him. Nishinoya didn’t look as Asahi stumbled across the grass, side aching, head reeling. He had to get out. He had to leave. It was too much and he was too small and everything was so far out of his league that he was going to die right there if he didn’t run.

 _“What are you ready to die for?”_ Oikawa had asked.

Nothing. Not this.

Asahi wasn’t just panicking, or scared, or anxious. He was _terrified_. He’d never been more terrified in his life. For himself. For Nishinoya.

Nishinoya.

Asahi turned. He hadn’t gotten as far as he’d thought, and there was someone after him. No one had shot him yet. As the person in black got closer he watched in slow motion as someone came up behind Nishinoya, rifle raised. It came down on Nishinoya’s head just as Nishinoya turned, eyes catching Asahi’s for less than a millisecond before they rolled up and he collapsed forward, yellow light snuffed out in an instant.

The fire had spread across the roof of the cabin and became the only light. The person approaching Asahi finally reached him and Asahi fell to his knees, unable to call out or move. He was pushed to the ground and he felt the now-familiar click of handcuffs on his wrists. He’d dropped the gun at some point. He wasn’t sure when. There was a knee in his back.

Nishinoya.

He’d seen. He’d called out for help. Asahi had said he’d help. He’d promised. The last thing that Nishinoya saw before he was hit was Asahi running away from him.

Asahi knew in an instant that he’d never really felt guilt before. Any moment in his past where he thought he felt guilty was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ compared to the all-consuming, impossible mountain that formed over him. He was hoisted back up to his feet. Nishinoya had asked for his help and Nishinoya had watched him run away.

They were picking up Nishinoya’s limp form. He couldn’t see Oikawa. Two of the people in black were down, one motionless on the ground and the other groaning softly.

The house burned and Asahi felt numb.

 

* * *

 

 

Yamaguchi awoke to a knock on the door, and for a moment he panicked. Then, as his senses came to him, he realized that there was an arm draped over him and another body breathing beside him, and he relaxed. The knock came again.

Tsukishima didn’t seem to have been woken by the sound. Yamaguchi carefully displaced Tsukishima’s arm and rolled out of bed, bare feet touching down on the carpet. He smoothed down his hair and checked the time on his bedside clock. Almost two in the morning. Ugh.

Another knock, this time in a silly pattern. As Yamaguchi crossed the living room the knocks tapped out “SOS”.

“I’m coming,” he grumbled, eyes heavy.

He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

There were five people standing there, all fairly young, all watching him intently. He blinked, wondering vaguely if he should have been worried about a break-in. One of the people, a young woman with hair pulled up in a ponytail and a beauty mark by her mouth, stood at the front.

“Is Tsukishima Kei here?” she asked politely, and Yamaguchi’s blood ran cold.


	8. The Engineered Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories stop adding up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't dead! Thank you everyone for being so patient. Only a few, very tense, chapters to go!

Asahi’s hands were going numb but he hadn’t really been able to feel them in the first place. The chair dug into his back and the rope dug into his wrists and the stun gun that had dug into his ribs had left an aching bruise and it really didn’t matter, any of it.

The hit had been a little too hard. Just a little, just in the right place, just as the light was burning out and Nishinoya was most vulnerable. Asahi remembered sitting in a van, hands tied, a gun at his head and chest, watching. He didn’t yell, or fight, or do anything but watch, because he was a useless fucking coward and always would be. Nishinoya’s breaths were uneven and they had medical equipment in the van but not enough.

Just in the right place. Asahi imagined his hand coming up, grabbing the butt of the gun, pushing Nishinoya out of the way, _something_. But instead he’d watched from meters away. Meters that he’d run trying to get away. The hit was just hard enough, sloppy enough, and Nishinoya’s brain jerked around in his skull and in the back of the van he stopped breathing.

Asahi just watched. He watched and didn’t even try to move. He watched Nishinoya get hit and he watched Nishinoya stop breathing in the back of the van and he watched as they pulled Nishinoya out of the van on a stretcher. They pushed him out behind Nishinoya and brought him somewhere else, to this room, and he didn’t try to break away.

He wasn’t a fighter. He was a runner, and when there was nowhere to run he did nothing.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the room. Long enough to have fallen asleep, once they’d stopped smacking him around and asking questions they already knew the answers to.

 _Where are the others?_ was a popular one. They must have known that he didn’t know. Back at Yui’s? Tokyo? Already captured? Dead?

Dead. He swallowed, expecting panic, but only emptiness slid down his throat.

They had better medical facilities here. Nishinoya hadn’t been breathing, but only for a minute or two before they arrived. He was still breathing when he had his seizure. When Asahi had watched and done nothing, said nothing.

Asahi had awoken with the ghost of a hand on his arm, but there hadn’t been anyone there. He hadn’t moved. They let him up once to use the bathroom, supervised and at gunpoint. He had no idea where he was, so even if he managed to muster the energy to try to run he’d be lost. He wanted to find Nishinoya—he wanted it _so desperately_ , but there was no way. So he sat.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. This was a different world, one that unpowered humans weren’t ready for. He wasn’t strong enough physically, definitely not mentally, probably not emotionally. He’d gotten lucky and he’d gotten attached and he’d gotten overconfident, and this is where it had gotten him.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually there were footsteps in the hall and the click of the door unlocking. Asahi raised his head, hair falling in his face. The door opened and a man stepped inside. He was tall, taller than Asahi was, and he wore a sharp suit. His shoes were shiny.

“I’m very sorry about these conditions,” the man said. His voice was deep and unnervingly affectless. “We’ll move you to a regular cell once we’ve done some processing.”

Asahi didn’t speak. The man approached him, steps sure and unhurried. “It’s quite unfortunate, for you, to have been tangled up in all this,” he said. “Azumane-san.”

Of course they knew who he was. Asahi let out a breath and finally met the man’s eyes. They were sharp but not angry. Intelligent. Inscrutable. “You putting me in prison?”

“Eventually,” the man said. He paused. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I’m in charge of this facility. I’m sure you’re not unaware of the circumstances under which we operate, so forgive me if I don’t elaborate.”

Asahi’s jaw tightened but there was nowhere for his anger to go so it fizzled out. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Ushiwaka.

“I know too much,” he said, surprising himself. “You can’t just put me away.”

Ushijima’s face didn’t so much as twitch. He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a consideration,” he said, firmly. “Or a problem.” He took a breath and turned, walking slowly around Asahi’s chair. Asahi didn’t follow him with his eyes—they fixed on the floor. “I’m only here as a messenger, for the moment. As you have, regrettably, become a part of this situation, I feel it is only fair to inform you that subject 0-5-1-8-8-2…” Asahi’s head snapped up and Ushijima appraised his expression, “…Nishinoya Yuu, as you know him, has resisted resuscitation efforts.”

Asahi froze, down to his heartbeat, as his brain processed the words. Ushijima stopped walking in front of him and put his hands in his pockets. “He’s very valuable, of course, so I can assure you no effort was spared. I was informed that he stopped breathing en route. It was our oversight, of course. He was pronounced dead on arrival.”

Asahi had never had a true out-of-body experience, but as he watched Ushijima’s face without remembering when his eyes had moved, he felt peculiarly as though he were no longer really there. His fingers weren’t attached to him—they belonged to someone else. His skin pricked but it wasn’t his, and he gazed through a tunnel that ended in his eyes, the bright room an impossible distance away. He couldn’t tell if his ears were ringing.

It came with such vertigo that if there were anything in his stomach he would have vomited there.

“Dead,” he repeated, and his voice sounded alien to his own ears. Was it really that deep? Was he that hoarse? He was thirsty. His body was thirsty. The body in which his mind was trapped was thirsty.

“The operative responsible has been detained, naturally. It was our mistake. Don’t blame yourself.”

The words were so pointed, so clearly meant to get a reaction from him despite their bland delivery, but Asahi’s mind wasn’t working fast enough in the right way to understand that. Dead on arrival.

At once tears started welling up his eyes, in the eyes that belonged to him but felt like someone else’s. Dead on arrival. That meant that Nishinoya had died in the van. Nishinoya had _died right in front of him_. He’d done nothing. He was close enough, before he’d run, with the building burning behind them…he’d been close enough to have taken Nishinoya, protected him, taken the hit for him, grabbed him and fought back.

Ushijima hummed. “I understand this must be hard for you…I’ve been told that you and 0-5-1-8-8-2 had entered some sort of romantic relationship. We had the house under surveillance for some time. Forgive us for spying on any personal moments.”

How? Where had they been? The night had been empty. Asahi had felt safe. He thought of kissing Nishinoya on the deck and _them_ in the fucking woods, watching. Waiting. Nishinoya.

Dead on arrival.

“I thought you should be informed. Anyway.” Ushijima bowed slightly and turned for the door. “I am very sorry for your position. I’ve always thought the legal protection for whistleblowers was lacking. Perhaps the judge will be forgiving.”

The door clicked open and then shut, and Asahi was alone, floating outside of his own skin, down below the floor and into the earth and straight down to hell, where he belonged.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d warned Hitoka that the man might be a little scary, but she didn’t think he was all that bad. If nothing else he was very quiet, refusing to even look in her direction as she tapped her feet and put together a puzzle.

Daddy had told her to stay there and let them know when the subject had calmed down. She had a calming presence, he said. The man still seemed very much on-edge, but he wasn’t violent or anything. He sat in the corner of the cell, arms wrapped around his knees, being careful to avoid the bandages she saw wrapped around his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which was a little icky, but she guessed they didn’t want any blood getting on his clothes.

Well, if he didn’t want to get hurt he shouldn’t have tried to leave, she echoed Daddy in her head. If he stayed too long on the outside he might hurt somebody else, which was why they had to get him back. He had a very dangerous power, one that had destroyed part of their house. They had to keep Tobio in a little room for a few days with nothing to do because of it. He didn’t like that at all.

There was one gap in the edge of the puzzle and she couldn’t find the piece that fit in it. She wrinkled her nose and sifted through the remaining pieces. Tobio always told her to flip them all over before she started, but there were five hundred of them and that would take _forever._

“Are you good at puzzles?” she asked the man. He didn’t respond. Hitoka _hmph_ ’d quietly and waved her hand in his direction. “Hello? Are you awake?”

“Shut up,” the man murmured. His hair looked sort of funny, with bleached bangs even though the rest of it was dark brown.

“That’s not nice,” Hitoka tutted before returning to the pile of puzzle pieces. That dumb edge piece wasn’t even in there, probably.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Hitoka sucked in a breath and watched the man with wide eyes. “You can’t say that,” she said.

The man finally lifted his head, watching her impassively. After a moment he sighed. “How old are you?”

“I’m eight,” she replied warily.

“Jesus Christ,” the man breathed. “ _Sorry_.”

Hitoka hummed. “It’s okay. Daddy says some bad words sometimes. He said you have to be a mean person to say them but he’s not a mean person so I think he was just saying that.”

“Who’s your dad?” the man asked. His eyes looked very tired.

“Well, he’s not my _dad_ dad,” Hitoka said. “I’m adopted.” And she was proud of it, because it meant that Mama and Daddy had really wanted her. Even if Mama wasn’t there very much. “I’m not supposed to talk about him, though. He said.”

“Great,” the man said, rolling his eyes. Hitoka narrowed her own at him.

“Daddy said you were really mean and made things explode.”

“Daddy’s right,” the man said. He shifted so his legs were straight out in front of him. One of his ankles was wrapped up. “Say, they’re keeping an eye on you in here, right?”

Hitoka shrugged. “Yeah.”

“With cameras?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m gonna send a little message, if that’s okay with you,” he said, voice strange. Hitoka shrugged again, deciding to forego the missing edge piece and start working on the middle of the puzzle. The man scanned the ceiling. “Okay, well, whoever’s watching, I’m not gonna cooperate with shit—” Hitoka grimaced at her puzzle “—until I get to see Karasu-san. That’s it. Final offer.”

“Who’s that?” Hitoka asked. She found a piece of blue—probably the sky, and tried to find where it fit at the top of the puzzle. It didn’t go anywhere yet. She’d have to do more.

“Doesn’t matter,” the man said. He paused. “Also!” he called to the ceiling, “I’m not wearing those sweatpants again. I’ll set ‘em on fire if you try it. There. Karasu-san, sweatpants.”

Hitoka didn’t like how loud the man was, but he wasn’t very big and didn’t seem that much like a grown-up. Maybe he was a teenager.

“You can’t get mad when I’m here,” Hitoka said off-handedly. She found a puzzle piece that looked like it might be a kitten nose and set it in the kitten pile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the man asked testily.

“You can’t get mad or sad when I’m here,” Hitoka elaborated. “Nobody can.”

The man clenched his jaw. “You’re an empath?”

Hitoka shrugged. “I don’t feel what other people feel,” she said.

“But you know what an empath is,” the man said, almost a question but not quite. Hitoka nodded. “You know about all of us. Probably a dumb fucking question since you’re here.”

“I live here.”

“Even better,” the man drawled. “You new?”

Hitoka shook her head, feet starting to kick under the table. “I’ve been here since I was really little.”

“I never saw you.”

“I live by Tobio-kun,” Hitoka said. The man’s eyes widened and he sat forward, grimacing a little when he pulled at the bandages.

“You know where he is?”

“Yeah,” Hitoka said absently. “We play sometimes in the morning, or after dinner maybe. Not today, though. He’s gotta sleep because he has surgery tomorrow.”

The man was silent, watching Hitoka with wide eyes. There was a small click from the ceiling and then a voice came, stern but not angry.

_“Yacchan, please pay attention to your puzzle.”_

“Hey!” the man yelled at the ceiling, but then there was another click and the voice was gone. He stood up and searched the corners of the cell. One of the walls was glass but it was dark now—either there was no one in the hall and the lights were off or they darkened the glass on purpose. “What did you say? Surgery? Where is he?”

Hitoka chewed on her lip and shrugged.

“You’re kidding me. Now you shut up? Little Miss Loose-Lips half a second ago.” The man groaned and his back hit the wall audibly. “Okay, well, since I know you fuckers are listening, the deal stands. I don’t care if she’s the best fucking empath in the world—you know that Tsukki can’t even keep me down if I mean business. Karasu-san or nothing.”

Hitoka couldn’t concentrate on her puzzle. The man was finally starting to make her nervous. There was a pause and then another small click. The man’s eyes were glued to the ceiling.

_“Azumane is in custody. 0-5-1-8-8-2, please be aware that your actions may affect him.”_

The man’s jaw was set. “Who the fuck is Azumane? You gonna kill someone if I’m not a good little boy?”

_“Yacchan, please stand by the door.”_

“Scared, huh?” the man asked mirthlessly. “I’m not going to hurt a kid.”

Hitoka slipped out of the chair and wandered over to the door. “I probably have to go eat lunch,” she said, because she knew that Daddy wasn’t scared of the man hurting her and there was no other reason to take her out of the room. It was okay. She wasn’t having fun anyway.

 _“Hands above you on the wall,”_ the ceiling voice said again. The man glared and then raised his arms, the backs of his hands pressing against the wall. The door opened behind Hitoka and someone pulled her back. There were guns, pointed at the man so he wouldn’t move. Then the door closed, the hollow _clunk_ of the deadbolt fastening, and Hitoka was in the hallway.

Daddy was there already. He must have been waiting.

“You did a very good job,” he said, holding out his hand. Hitoka took it and they started down the hall, leaving the guards with guns standing by the door.

“Why is he so mad?” Hitoka asked. Daddy looked down at her.

“He’s confused,” he said. “He remembers things that didn’t happen.”

“Huh,” Hitoka mused under her breath. “Like what?”

“Ushijima-sama!” someone called from down the hall. Daddy paused and turned. Hitoka realized that she’d left her puzzle and wondered if someone was going to get it.

“Someone else will have to take you to lunch,” Daddy said. He patted Hitoka’s head, messing up her hair, and she wrinkled her nose.

“You said.”

“Please don’t be difficult,” Daddy said. Hitoka _hmph_ ’d and then Daddy was walking quickly down the hall, his suit jacket tight on his back. Hitoka waited for one of the guards to come over and walk her down to the kitchen. They were taking forever. Maybe one of them would get her puzzle and bring it down so she could work on it while she ate. She didn’t want the man in the room to try to do any of it and mess it up.

 

* * *

 

“So let me just…” Yamaguchi started, wetting his lips. Tsukishima was curled up on the opposite end of the couch, watching him.

And the five people, the five strangers, the five people who had _known Tsukishima for years_ , watched him as well. His eyes scanned them. “So you have superpowers,” he said. “And you were captured, and… _experimented on_ , and…and this isn’t a movie. Or some prank show.”

Tsukishima didn’t look guilty—Yamaguchi wasn’t sure that was a feeling he was even capable of having. But he definitely looked uncomfortable.

There was a man with grey hair—he was young, so maybe it was more of an ash-blond—who had been doing most of the talking so far. He had a kind face, and from the way the dark-haired man next to him hadn’t moved his hand from the small of the other man’s back the entire time they’d been in Yamaguchi’s apartment told him that they were kindred souls, in a certain way.

“Not a prank show,” the grey-haired man—his name was Suga-something, but Yamaguchi wasn’t particularly good with names, especially first thing in the morning and after having learned that Tsukishima had been a fucking _test subject,_ and what did that even _mean—_ “We don’t have a lot of time, unfortunately,” the man continued, this time to Tsukishima. “We’ve been planning to get Tobio.” This seemed to mean something to Tsukki, who nodded grimly. “And Shouyou.” Tsukishima’s face tightened but otherwise he betrayed no emotion.

“Where’s Nishinoya?” Tsukishima asked, glancing across the group. The man on the end, the one with no hair, shook his head slightly.

“We’re not sure where he went,” one of the women said. She had been the one to knock, and she sat stoically through the conversation. Of all the people, even the bald one who looked perpetually suspicious, she was the most intimidating. Yamaguchi couldn’t place why. As it was she was standing by the door, not looking out the peephole but looking tense. “He may have already been captured. We’ve been searching.”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. “Then I’m going to be absolutely useless, aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” the woman continued, but Tsukishima cocked his head at her.

“What am I going to do without him? I’m not exactly good at hand-to-hand,” he said dryly.

“We’re not planning to get in with force,” Suga-something said. “Too much risk. If we infiltrate quietly we have a better chance.”

Tsukishima looked at them like they were all idiots. “Just have Tanaka-san pick up the whole facility,” he said. Yamaguchi’s eyes widened and he swallowed the thousandth question coming to the front of his mind. “Scare them a little. Get Tobio and Shouyou’s box out and fuck off to Europe or something. I don’t see the problem.”

The man with the shaved head—Tanaka, Yamaguchi was inferring—opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He let out a breath and nodded, but Suga-something cut him off.

“That’s too dangerous,” he said. Tsukki _tsk_ ed.

“You’re better than that,” he said, but his voice wasn’t entirely mocking, like Yamaguchi expected it to be.

“It’s complicated,” Tanaka said.

“Someone please explain anything to me,” Yamaguchi said a little helplessly.

Tsukishima eyed him and then raised an arm, pointing at Tanaka. “Tanaka. Telekinesis,” he said. Yamaguchi blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Tsukishima’s hand drifted. The man with the short, black hair. “Sawamura. Invincibility.” The stoic woman by the door. “Shimizu. Elemental manipulation.” He pointed to himself. “Empathy. There’s another with stronger elemental powers, but he’s been captured.” Suga-something gave him a look. “Maybe. There’s a kid with telepathy still in the facility.”

Yamaguchi let out a breath and nodded. “Okay. That’s pretty cool.”

“Where’d you find him?” Tanaka asked, gesturing to Yamaguchi. “Yuu’s buddy at least looked _surprised_.”

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow. “I’ve known about his thing,” he said, jerking his head toward Tsukishima, “since we were kids.”

Tanaka smiled slyly. “His _thing_ , huh?”

A foot appeared and kicked at Tanaka, knocking him over against the couch. It belonged to the other woman, the one with short, brown hair.

“When we get Nishinoya you’ll be able to work with him,” Suga-something said.

“That ‘when’ sounds pretty sure. What if he’s dead? Or not at Aoba Johsai?”

“We’re going to get him,” the man continued firmly. “We have reason to believe he’s alive, at least.”

“What reason is that?” Tsukishima asked dispassionately.

“Well, first off,” Suga-something— _Sugawara,_ that was it—started, “He’s valuable enough that Ushijima will want him to be in reasonable condition. Second, we discovered sort of inadvertently, while trying to leave Sendai, that Ushijima is using Oikawa to try and gather us back up.”

Tsukishima sighed. Yamaguchi shifted a little. “Who’s that? Why does that mean anything?”

“Oikawa used to be in our situation—he’s a telepath,” Tsukishima said, like that was a normal, sensible sentence. Yamaguchi swallowed and nodded. “Right before they picked me up they promoted him out of testing with us and started combat training. That’s what we pieced together, at least.” He gestured to Sugawara. “You explain.”

Sugawara smiled appeasingly, but it just made him look a little sad. “Oikawa’s power isn’t very strong but he’s got incredible control over it. He can do some pretty thorough mind control but only on one person at a time. When it’s normal people he’s good enough to bounce between them quickly so they don’t realize that he’s let any of them go, but with us it’s a little different.” He sat forward. The hand on his back followed easily and Yamaguchi found himself watching Sawamura instead, who was staring at Sugawara with incredibly casual intensity. “It requires extra effort for him to both control and suppress power, so for people like Tanaka and Nishinoya he needs to concentrate a lot. Nishinoya is the first target because he’s the most dangerous—since he can’t control his power—so if Oikawa hasn’t come after the rest of us yet then he’s probably still trying to capture Nishinoya. So we can assume he’s alive, at least.”

“It’s a stretch,” Shimizu said. Her voice was higher than Yamaguchi expected. “But I can sense the psychic powers of others and I haven’t felt either of them for days. Nishinoya was alone so there’s a high chance he’s been captured.”

“So this Oikawa guy is who you’re trying to get away from?” Yamaguchi asked. “What if he already put your friend away and is on his way to get the rest of you already? He wouldn’t come here, would he?” He glanced at the door nervously. Tsukishima nudged him with his foot and Yamaguchi calmed himself.

“He doesn’t know where we are,” Shimizu said, glancing at the door for emphasis. “Hopefully.”

“So how are you planning on getting back in?” Tsukishima asked. “Since you said it’s going to be without using force.”

Sugawara didn’t look pleased at Tsukishima’s tone and Yamaguchi rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dick,” he said under his breath.

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond. Sugawara gave an odd little half-smile. “We have a couple of ideas,” he said. “I know a few loosely-guarded entrances, especially if we come from the east. No one expects us to break back _in_ , so their attention won’t be there. Or,” he sighed, “option two.”

He glanced at the Shimizu, whose lips formed a straight line. “We let them capture us.”

Tsukishima’s hands tightened into fists and he regarded her with the withering gaze that Yamaguchi knew meant he didn’t know what to say. Yamaguchi decided that with the way Sawamura had been watching Sugawara all morning there was probably no need to keep up appearances, so he scooted over on the couch so his arm was brushing Tsukishima’s. Tsukishima looked down at him and he smiled lightly, in a way that he hoped was reassuring.

“It’s not ideal, of course,” Shimizu said. “But we’re short on time and resources. It might be the best chance we have.”

“And forfeit any element of surprise we could have had,” Tsukishima said. “They’ll be waiting for us to make some move. You think they’re going to believe us if we say we’re turning ourselves in?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tanaka said. “We can overpower them any day.”

“Unless,” Tsukishima said, nervous in a way Yamaguchi had never heard before, “Ushijima is there.”

“We can take him,” Tanaka said. Shimizu and Tsukishima shared an unreadable look.

“Which is why it took us so long to get out in the first place,” Tsukishima drawled. “Because we can _take_ him.”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Sawamura said. It was the first time he had spoken. “Unless we abandon Nishinoya and Tobio.”

“Goddammit,” Tsukishima sighed. His arm came up and rested on the back of the couch behind Yamaguchi.

“So are you in or are we wasting our time?” Tanaka asked.

Tsukishima’s hand slid off of the couch and onto Yamaguchi’s shoulder. “I’m not going to let myself get captured,” he said after a moment. He rolled his eyes but it was more relenting than sarcastic. “If we find Nishinoya you’ll need me.”

Sugawara smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

Yamaguchi felt Tsukishima squeeze his shoulder, jaw tight. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

Tsukishima’s eyes snapped down to him. “No,” he said simply.

“I’m not going to let you do something this dangerous without me,” Yamaguchi said. “You all just escaped from this place, right? There has to be something I can do.”

“You have class,” Tsukishima reminded. Yamaguchi nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.

“I can miss a day or two,” he said.

“You don’t understand how dangerous this is,” Tsukishima said thinly. “They’ll capture you in two seconds and figure out some way to get you in prison, or they’ll just kill you.”

“Then I can go to the police or something, at _least_ ,” Yamaguchi said, starting to get annoyed.

“They’re connected all the way up—you think they’d be able to get away with _human experimentation_ for this long without making any noise? You don’t have any powers or any weapons and they’ll figure that out.”

Yamaguchi took in a breath as if to speak but bit his tongue. He glanced over at the others, who were watching them uncertainly. “You just said your power doesn’t do much in a fight,” he said. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference,” Tsukishima said, “is that I have a chance of finding Nishinoya, and the last time we were together we blew up the _bay_.”

Yamaguchi’s mouth fell open. He looked at Sugawara, who returned his gaze steadily. “That was you.”

“That was us.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi intoned. “There’s…” he sighed. “Great, well, I guess I’d be sort of useless then, huh? If that’s the kind of thing we’re talking about.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The brown-haired woman—Tsukishima hadn’t given her name—smiled, if a bit grimly.

“If you really want to help there’s a group of us on the outside. No powers. Just…”

“No. Why would you get involved if you’re safe out here?” Tsukishima cut in. Yamaguchi stood.

“I’m going to make some tea,” he said. “If anybody wants some.”

“Tadashi,” Tsukishima said. Yamaguchi gave him a weary look.

“I’m just making tea.”

Yamaguchi rounded the sofa and padded into the kitchen, trying not to let the prickles of annoyance get to him. All of this information was dumped on him at once and he thought he’d been taking it pretty well. It was natural that he’d want to help, if Tsukishima was going to be getting himself into trouble again. He hadn’t told Yamaguchi much, but Yamaguchi had gathered that whatever had happened in the hospital or institution or _wherever_ they’d been stuck had been bad. That alone set a fire under Yamaguchi, though not necessarily one of the ‘save people he didn’t know’ sort.

He filled the kettle and set it on its stand to boil, and all he could see was the look on Tsukishima’s face whenever he edged near the subject of his four-year disappearance. He’d been hurt by someone, and Yamaguchi was coming to terms with the sudden, foreign feeling of wanting to kill that someone.

The box of tea sat on the counter next to his container of sugar. He pulled out a few tea bags and then turned to get mugs. As he turned he saw someone in the corner of his eye and jumped, his hand flying down to steady himself on the counter.

The brown-haired woman stood there. Yamaguchi blinked, relaxed, and coughed out a laugh. “You’re quiet,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Tea’s not ready,” Yamaguchi continued. The woman shook her head and smiled.

“I’m Michimiya Yui. Since Tsukishima-san didn’t introduce us.” She held out a hand. Yamaguchi reached forward and shook it lightly. “If you’re actually interested in helping us…I can fill you in on all that’s been going on. I know the primer out there didn’t really cover everything. We could use as many people as possible, if we want to get everyone out safely.”

She looked hopeful but not expectant. Yamaguchi returned to retrieving the mugs from the cabinet. “Is it really super dangerous?”

“Potentially,” she said, and Yamaguchi was happy she wasn’t beating around the bush. “Not…there’s no real threat of _dying_. Tsukishima-san was exaggerating. But some of the other members of the group I belong to have been targeted.”

“Rough,” Yamaguchi said. He glanced out the window. Most people were at work and it was a residential neighborhood so the street was clear. There was a car parked across the street he hadn’t seen before—probably the one the strangers in his living room had come in.

“Aoba Johsai is one of a network of these testing facilities—they’re run separately but all fall under a larger corporation. We aren’t sure about their ultimate goal but as far as we can tell they’ve been targeting people with psychic powers in order to weaponize them. We’ve been trying to rescue the people they’ve captured.”

Yamaguchi nodded along as Michimiya explained. He kept some of his more pressing questions at bay—what did they do to Tsukki? Where were they? How do I find them and murder them? The water boiled and he poured it carefully into each mug, the steam brushing his face.

He looked to the window again as he listened to Michimiya. The blue car sat across the street was still, and then something moved. A man rounded the car, bundled in a coat, and then he leaned against it with his arms crossed.

“You leave someone on lookout?” Yamaguchi asked casually in a break in the conversation. Michimiya blinked.

“Kiyoko-chan’s at the door,” she said.

“Like someone outside,” Yamaguchi said.

Michimiya took in a quick breath and then let it out slowly. “Is there someone there?”

“Leaning on your car,” Yamaguchi said. “I think it’s your car, right?”

“Blue Honda,” Michimiya said quickly, her voice suddenly sharp and business-like. Yamaguchi nodded, feeling something uncomfortable curl in his gut.

“Blue Honda.”

“Shit,” she hissed. In an instant she turned, rushing back into the living room. Yamaguchi frowned and followed her. Everyone was already standing.

“Is it him?” Michimiya asked tensely.

Shimizu nodded, her back pressed against the wall next to the door. “He’s alone.”

“He can’t take us by himself,” Tanaka said. Yamaguchi’s eyes widened slowly.

“It’s the guy,” he said, looking for confirmation. Tsukishima’s eyes snapped over and then he moved toward Yamaguchi, stepping half in front of him defensively. “Is it the guy?”

“Oikawa,” Tsukishima said.

“You said he wouldn’t find you here,” Yamaguchi whined.

“He must have already been following us,” Shimizu said quietly.

Yamaguchi didn’t like the way his heart was speeding up. “Do you need me to look out the window? Is he coming? You can go out the fire escape.”

“He’ll hear what we’re going to do before we do it,” Sugawara said absently, eyes on the door. “Best we can do is meet him head-on.”

“Oh shit,” Yamaguchi murmured. “What was his deal? Mind-control, right? Can he read minds too? Fuck.”

“Calm down,” Tsukishima said, not unkindly. Yamaguchi took a deep breath. Everyone watched the door intently.

 _Close_ , Shimizu mouthed.

In the kitchen, the teapot whistled.

There were three sharp knocks on the door, a pause, and then a light voice, muffled by the wall: “I know where Yuu-chan is.”

 

* * *

 

Tobio was hungry, but they had said he couldn’t eat or drink anything. The anesthesia interrupted your digestive system, he’d read somewhere. Maybe Ukai-sensei had told him.

He always hated how the sticky electrodes felt on him, but it was sort of cool to watch his heartbeat on the monitor. He could make it go faster or slower, if he tried. If he really concentrated he sometimes caught it skipping a beat, but that was rare.

Of course, now they’d taken him off of the monitor and put him back in his room. Something came up, the nurses told him.

(I can’t believe they actually caught one of them honestly it just makes them lock everything up I wanted to have time for my cigarette break), one of them thought.

Tobio was sort of perplexed, because all of a sudden they were thinking about an _escape_ of some sort, as though people had actually managed to _leave_ …

If any of the nurses had images of faces in their minds Tobio didn’t recognize them. They told him not to worry and that the procedure would be done eventually, that this was just a minor postponement. Tobio wasn’t worried at all—getting ready for surgery was sort of weird and fun but actually _having_ surgery was definitely scary. He also hadn’t seen Ukai-sensei in several days, which was making him tense.

An attendant came into his room and _finally_ gave him breakfast. She had more faces in her mind that he didn’t recognize. He carded through her recent memories as she left. There had indeed been an escape. Tobio didn’t particularly understand why. If the other patients had been as sick as him they wouldn’t get very far in the outside world.

Well, he thought as he ate his eggs, it was good that they came back. It hurt to be on the outside. It was too noisy, and the fuzzy memories Tobio had were of too many people, too many thoughts, deafening and yet silent. Langauges he didn’t understand, concepts he’d never heard of, things that were only for adults and things that should have put people in jail. _Boring_ things. Numbers, words, money, jobs, houses, art. Scary things. All at once, from everywhere.

It was safe inside. Tobio didn’t like to hear the whole world.

 

* * *

 

They gave Asahi some food and water at some point, finally. They’d promised to move him to a more comfortable room, but all they ended up doing was giving him a paper-thin futon and undoing his handcuffs at gunpoint. Asahi was in no state of mind to fight them.

It came as a rumble, innocuous but deafening to Asahi’s silence-primed ears. It was followed shortly by another, smaller rumble, like a crash mitigated by distance. Asahi had been lying on the futon, trying desperately to not be awake, but at the sound he propped himself up on his elbows. It was so vague it could be thunder.

Thunder. Asahi remembered hearing that recently. He sighed abruptly and laid back on the futon, turning on his side. The stiff cloth cover on it almost crackled. Thunder. He closed his eyes. That’s what Iwaizumi and Oikawa had called Nishinoya. It was probably a codename. Since all those fucking numbers Ushijima kept saying were too long to remember.

It had only been a week, of course. He’d only known about any of this for a little more than a week, but it felt like so much longer. Asahi knew it about himself, that he got attached quickly. To people, things, situations. He got attached and then he lost things and instead of doing the smart thing and trying to stop the attachment in the first place he just let it happen again and again. And it landed him in situations like this.

Okay, that wasn’t true. He’d never been in a situation like this before.

There was a moment of complete silence, save for the constant hum of something beneath the floor, and then a series of red lights along the ceiling lit up all at once. They were followed less than a second later by an absolutely deafening screech. Asahi jolted violently and stared up at the lights, eyes wide. Some alarm. Like a fire alarm, but louder, probably augmented by the bare tile room.

The sound was so loud it was painful, a repetitive, brassy screech that brought Asahi’s hands to his ears. He stumbled to his feet and then fell back against the wall. He could _feel_ the sound, it was so loud. Nonstop. Was there a fire? Had the rumbles not been thunder?

“Hey!” he cried, almost silent under the overwhelming alarm. “What’s going on?” He knew the room was monitored but they probably couldn’t hear him over the noise. The red lights flashed. If there was a fire, would he be able to get out? Even if he got through the door, there was no telling where exactly he was. He could be in a safehouse in the middle of Sendai, or he could be a hundred meters under the bay.

“Hey!” he yelled again, voice hoarse.

The sound stopped in an instant and the lights shut off, leaving Asahi’s ears ringing and his head pounding. What could it have been for? Obviously nothing that would affect him, because no one had made any moves to check on him or move him elsewhere.

There were other people here with powers, he remembered. Maybe something had happened with one of them. They were just little kids, if Nishinoya’s description had been true.

Nishinoya.

Bad train of thought.

He listened carefully, pretty sure from the way he’d been able to hear tapping footsteps earlier in the day that he wasn’t completely cut off from the hallway. Nothing. He took a deep breath and sat back, watching the lights warily. The ghost of the alarm still rang in his head.

Honestly, Asahi found himself now entirely resigned to the idea of prison. Looking around the small room he was realizing that he didn’t have any particular desire to be on the outside. He had nowhere to go, first off, no way to contact Nishinoya’s friends, no one to help him figure his way out. His thoughts had stopped at getting out of the country, when he was on the run, but now that was a moot point.

Maybe the worst part of prison would be how much time he got to think. He did more than enough of that anyway, though at the moment the most uncomfortable thoughts were still, somehow, at bay. It wouldn’t be that way for long.

The one decision he had come to was that this had to be, in some way, Oikawa’s doing. Oikawa had somehow shown up at the most opportune time, had somehow found that his goals matched theirs, had somehow decided that the three of them could come up with a plan together to break back in. Asahi let out a sharp sigh and kicked at the wall. Fuck. Of course he’d want to help them break back in, once he knew that that was their goal. They’d practically handed themselves over on a silver platter. They’d done his job for him.

Not Oikawa’s doing, then. Asahi’s, for being so stupid. For trusting someone who tried to kill him, whose goal was to put him and Nishinoya away. For believing his obvious sob story. For entrusting him with any part of their safety.

And look how that had turned out. There was a pit in Asahi’s chest, one that had been growing, no longer just of guilt. It was a new, exciting, terrible feeling. Where emptiness usually blocked out his other, worse emotions, it was now wrapped in the guilt, hollow and aching but still so guilty it hurt.

 

* * *

 

The click was light and distant. Metal hitting metal, soft but heavy, somewhere down the hall. Asahi’s hearing had returned after the alarm and it was so quiet he could hear the hum in the walls. He listened carefully toward the door. Nothing, then another small clink. Like a latch closing or a heavy lock snapping into place.

Then it was his own door. Asahi tensed, standing slowly as the door jiggled, like someone was trying to open it with brute force. There was nothing he could use as a weapon and the door was the only way out, if this wasn’t one of the guards. A series of smaller clicks and then the door shifted, like it was about to open. Asahi’s heart jumped into his throat and he braced himself, unprepared and wondering without moving if the futon would be thick enough to fend off an attack.

The door burst open, so hard it hit the wall, making Asahi flinch back. There was a shout down the hall, a warning. Asahi’s mouth opened and stayed that way as he watched the person stumble inside, in what looked like pajama pants and a white undershirt.

Sharp, wide, hopeful eyes met Asahi’s and he stopped breathing.

“Hey, big guy,” Nishinoya panted, very much alive, smiling a little wildly as footsteps tapped down the hall, armor and guns rattling. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Yamaguchi had expected someone scary, someone who looked mean and intimidating. What he got instead was a very tired looking young man, not much older than himself, wearing a torn winter coat and nursing a purpling black eye. He looked tired, worn-down, like he hadn’t showered in days. Yamaguchi wanted to offer him some tea.

He stood in the open doorway, eyes running over the group. Tanaka had stepped forward, watching the intruder with a dangerous look. A “try-me” look.

“Oh my god, you’d think I murdered your families,” Oikawa complained, rolling his eyes. “Calm down, you know I can’t beat you alone.”

“ _Are_ you alone?” Sugawara asked tersely.

“Obviously,” Oikawa said. “You think I’d let my team see me like this? This look is specially reserved for you assholes.”

Yamaguchi snorted and then jolted, surprised at the fact that he’d made any sound at all. He covered his mouth and nose with a hand, blinking at Oikawa. Oikawa looked at him impassively, then at Tsukishima. He nodded.

“Wow, you and Yuu-chan sure know how to make a move,” he said. “Congrats. Anyway,” he turned back to Sugawara and Shimizu, “speaking of Yuu-chan.”

“What did you do to him?” Tanaka demanded. Oikawa put his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t do anything to him. We got ambushed by Ushiwaka-chan’s special forces and he and his boy-toy got scooped up.”

“We?” Sugawara asked, looking much steadier than the others. He watched Oikawa expectantly but not anxiously.

“I got kicked out of Aoba Johsai and found them in the woods. What, you think I put them away myself? I’m over that. I have someone I’m trying to break out, just like you guys, and I just figured we’d be better at it if we worked together.” Oikawa sighed and Yamaguchi, for all he was searching, couldn’t find anything that seemed especially sinister about him.

“Kicked out,” Sugawara said skeptically. Oikawa pursed his lips.

“Kicked myself out, really,” he said grimly. “Ushiwaka was getting a little too heavy-handed with his blackmail.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Of course I was being fucking _blackmailed_ —is it that much of a surprise? Sure, I’m a dick, but you think I just rolled over for Ushijima when he pulled me out of testing? Thanks for the faith.”

Yamaguchi looked around furtively. Nobody had spoken. He realized with an unpleasant jolt that Oikawa must have been responding to their thoughts.

“ _Anyway_ , I’ve got a boyfriend stuck in a cell in maximum with a bomb in his head, so I guess you’ll just have to trust me when I say that helping you break back in is not something I’m doing for Ushi-fucking-waka.”

Sugawara took a deep breath, and Yamaguchi could see the gears in his head turning. “How did you find us?”

“Followed you from Miss Goody-two-shoes’ house. But half of you have GPSs in you so Seijoh knows where you are anyway. In case that was a surprise.” Oikawa unzipped his jacket and pulled down the collar of his shirt. There was a bandage, spotting with old blood, taped to his chest. “I’m recently off the grid.”

Tsukishima tensed next to Yamaguchi, his hand coming to his own chest absently. Sugawara seemed not to know what to say. Tanaka was still doing his best gangster impression, though Oikawa appeared not to even notice. From what Yamaguchi could tell he was brusque but not mean, and besides the uncomfortable feeling that someone could be inside his brain he wasn’t scary at all.

“Well, you’re talkative,” Oikawa said. “Okay, the pitch.” He steepled his fingers and gestured with them for emphasis. “We’re out of time. I’m going back to Seijoh tomorrow, with or without you. If you want any chance at making it inside without getting picked up by Ushiwaka’s oompa-loompas you’re coming with me.” He smiled and cocked his head. “How’s that sound?”

 

* * *

 

Asahi’s brain short-circuited for just a moment before he gasped. “Nishinoya,” he said.

“I’d love to chat but we gotta blast,” Nishinoya said. Asahi found himself stumbling forward.

“How?” he breathed. The footsteps were almost on them. Nishinoya hadn’t had enough of a lead. They were going to be caught before they could get anywhere.

“We’re gonna fucking book it!” Nishinoya said, low and rushed and practically bubbling with excitement. “Left, then right!”

Asahi didn’t have time to figure out what that meant before he was yanked out into the hallway, right into the path of the guards following Nishinoya. He opened his mouth to scream, maybe, but then he felt Nishinoya’s hand grip the front of his shirt and pull him down.

“Hope to fuck this works!” Nishinoya cried before kissing him roughly. Asahi froze with shock. The guards were there, and they were yelling something, and pointing some kind of gun, and then Nishinoya’s hand flew out to the side.

There was a low rumble, something cracking up above them, and the guards stopped in place, eyes widening. Nishinoya pulled away just as Asahi’s hands came up to his waist involuntarily and then the ceiling buckled.

Nishinoya pulled Asahi out of the way and they sprinted down the hall as a jet of water poked through the cracked tile and all the lights in that area went out. Then, without warning, the ceiling broke entirely and a wall of water crashed down on the floor.

“Right!” Nishinoya cried over the roar, and Asahi had a second to understand what he meant before he was pulled down another hall. The water rushed across the floor behind them, like the tide coming in on a beach. They approached a door with _Authorized Personnel Only_ written on it. “Please still be unlocked, please still be unlocked,” Nishinoya hissed.

 “Still?” Asahi asked, but Nishinoya didn’t seem to hear him. The door opened and Nishinoya tugged them both through it before closing it behind them and bolting it.

Asahi stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, turning to see Nishinoya slide down the door, panting. His eyes were glowing brilliant blue and when his eyes met Asahi’s he cracked a huge, uncontrolled smile. Asahi found that he was also out of breath, from the adrenaline and running and shock.

Nishinoya laughed suddenly, melting into a pile of giggles. He kicked out his feet and fist-pumped the air. “Holy _shit!_ ” he laughed, collapsing back against the door. Asahi pushed himself up and sat, his hair falling in his face.

“What…” he started, but he wasn’t sure what question to ask. He thought he might be smiling too, but he wasn’t sure.

“There’s a little pool upstairs!” Nishinoya said, grinning. “And fuck, sorry about the…you know, but I had to make sure I was happy enough. So thanks.” He turned a little to look at the door behind him. “This hall’s only got the one entrance, so it’ll probably take them a little while to get past whatever I fucked up.”

Asahi blinked and then shook his head in disbelief. “You’re alive.”

Nishinoya looked around and then nodded like it was obvious. “They weren’t going to kill me,” he said.

“Not…” Asahi sucked in a breath and searched for words on the floor. Not _here_ , he wanted to say. In the van. On the…Asahi had _seen_ him. Something was wrong.

“What do you mean?” Nishinoya asked. He crawled forward, the smile still pulling at his lips and his eyes blazing blue. The air was thick in Asahi’s lungs, impossibly humid. Nishinoya shook his head as if to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to get you out.”

“Me?” Asahi asked.

“I dragged you into this shit so I’m going to drag you back out,” Nishinoya said. He winked and Asahi couldn’t help but smile a bit dazedly. “Also,” he murmured, suddenly close, “hi.”

Asahi took a deep breath. Nishinoya was here. He was alive. He was sitting in front of him. Asahi’s hands came up and he smiled fleetingly before pulling Nishinoya in. Nishinoya took the hint and tackled him, their noses bumping together ungracefully before their lips touched.

Nishinoya was so light on top of Asahi, but his waist was firm under Asahi’s hands. Panic had given way to surprise and now all Asahi’s brain seemed to be able to do was accept. Nishinoya pulled back, eyes sparkling.

“I was so fucking worried,” he said emphatically.

“I was too,” Asahi replied, staring up at Nishinoya in a bit of confused wonder.

“Sorry about the meltdown at the cabin, holy shit,” Nishinoya laughed self-conscoiusly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Asahi shook his head and at once the adrenaline high crashed around him and his eyes widened. The cabin. The guns, the fire, the electricity. If there was anything Asahi was good at it was holding onto guilt, and it came back with a vengeance. He swallowed and let out a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Nishinoya looked concerned. “What?”

“I’m so sorry,” Asahi repeated. “I tried to…” He trailed off. Nishinoya cocked his head and sat up, letting Asahi prop himself back up.

“You were really close to getting away,” Nishinoya filled in for him. “Sucks that you didn’t.”

Asahi shook his head, feeling as though words were more difficult than they had to be. “I could’ve…neither of us…”

“You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Nishinoya reprimanded lightly. “I’m really pumped and sort of want to kiss you again and I can’t do that if you’re getting yourself in a tizzy.”

“I ran,” Asahi said helplessly.

“You should have!” Nishinoya replied. “You should have run.”

Asahi regarded Nishinoya warily. “No.”

“If you had run then you wouldn’t be stuck in here too,” Nishinoya said. “You think you being in here helps either of us? I mean, I _like_ you—” Asahi made a small noise “—and I’ll sure take company but seriously. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I ran away when you _asked_ me to help you,” Asahi shot back, the rope holding back his upset breaking.

“You don’t have to save me!” Nishinoya cried with a weak laugh, throwing up his hands. “I’m a big boy, okay? You helped me a bunch of times and I’m grateful for that, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not your job. I don’t want it to be your job. Like, I appreciate the thought but sometimes you _can’t_ and if you’re gonna drown in your own guilt every time I get hurt then…” He sighed. “Fuck, I don’t know. I just…fuck. You’re a good dude. You don’t have to keep proving it.”

Asahi tensed. “I’m not a good person.”

“You said that a couple times,” Nishinoya said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m waiting for the payout.” He crossed his arms and lay back on the bed. “What’s the big problem?”

“I don’t…” Asahi started, before he realized he didn’t know where he was going. This could be it. Nishinoya deserved to know. Of all the things to keep a secret, this was the most important, but it was probably going to be the end of whatever they had. Nishinoya wasn’t looking at him but he could feel the expectant look anyway. “I was on the run…remember how you said…I’m…”

“Okay, don’t hurt yourself,” Nishinoya cautioned, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I killed someone,” Asahi blurted.

Silence.

Instantly he felt his whole body tense, throat tightening. His face was hot and it was hard to breathe. He stared at the ground intensely, ears ringing.

Nishinoya paused, mouth slightly parted. Asahi couldn’t look at him. He hadn’t ever said it out loud. It had been weeks, almost two months, and he hadn’t said it out loud. The words hung in the air, making it thick, and that combined with the guilt already heavy in his chest threatened to break his body.

“Okay,” Nishinoya said slowly. Asahi felt like he was drifting, like gravity had suddenly disappeared. “Hey, calm down. I’m not gonna…” His hand came up to touch Asahi’s arm and Asahi jerked away from the motion, eyes snapping to Nishinoya. There was no anger, or disappointment, or fear. Just surprise, confusion. A little worry, but that seemed to be more for Asahi than anything else. “Deep breaths.”

“I killed someone,” Asahi repeated, wishing he could hold Nishinoya’s gaze.

“Okay, you killed someone,” Nishinoya said, surrendering. He paused, mouth open, before continuing. “You don’t really seem like the…serial killer type.” Asahi tensed, if that were possible. “Sorry. I just…so why? What happened?”

This was _wrong_ and Nishinoya should be mad. He should be angry or some kind of upset and he wasn’t. He reached out again and this time when Asahi flinched away he held on, grabbing Asahi’s arm firmly, but not too tightly, at the elbow.

“Don’t shut down,” Nishinoya said. Asahi thought it might be a little too late for that.

“I made some interesting career decisions,” Asahi said, and Nishinoya looked positively stunned before he started laughing. Asahi looked at him like he was going crazy.

“To what, mass murderer?” Nishinoya asked. “You’re not the type.”

“I did…you know, I told you, I was an accountant.”

“Balance sheets.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Asahi asked, more harshly than he intended. “Does this sound like a joke?”

Nishinoya’s face fell and he shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I was just trying to…never mind. Sorry. I’m an asshole. Keep going.”

Asahi regarded Nishinoya with some weary skepticism. “I found out that there were a few higher-ups who were embezzling funds. Of course there were. No names.” Asahi breathed slowly. “I told someone. I guess I was sort of a whistle-blower. Maybe. I don’t know. They didn’t like that, and someone had connections, and they sent some people to my house to…” He closed his eyes and shrugged, shaking his head. “ _Talk some sense into me_. With some knives. And a baseball bat.”

“Shit,” Nishinoya intoned. “Old-school.”

Asahi ignored him. “I got scared.”

“Anyone would be.”

“It was really fast, but they were guarding the door and I thought maybe I could get out the fire escape,” Asahi continued. “I didn’t know how to make the ladder work. Because I’m an idiot.” Nishinoya’s grip on his arm tightened. “And I knew…I was lazy and my landlord was being difficult and I _knew_ that the railing was rusted and loose. I should have gotten it fixed anyway.” He chewed at his lip absently, staring into space. He could see it all, like it had just happened, playing in his head like it did every night. “The knife was huge. It was like a hunting knife, almost. So he comes after me and I get out of the way and I knew where the railing was broken…but he didn’t, so when he ran into it it just…”

The man’s eyes had been set, determined, and then suddenly surprised. He had looked at Asahi like he’d just realized something, or maybe like he’d just been told something unbelievable. Eyes wide. His stomach muscles clenched as the metal gave and he overbalanced, inertia carrying him just past the edge. He dropped the knife and grabbed at the railing but it had rained and his hand slipped. Asahi could probably have reached him. There were two more men inside his apartment, coming toward the sliding door to the balcony. It was all so, so slow.

Asahi was terrified, and he didn’t reach out his hand. He watched as the man tipped and reached for thin air and looked _surprised_. Not panicked, or even scared. Just surprised.

“If I hadn’t gotten out of the way I could have stopped him from hitting the rail, probably,” Asahi said, voice dull. “He went over. And fell.”

Nishinoya watched Asahi, face open, and it took him a moment to realize that Asahi was done. He nodded. “So where’s the part where you killed someone?”

“I lived on the fourteenth floor,” Asahi said. “He landed on a car.”

Nishinoya blinked. “You didn’t even push him, though?”

Asahi paused, not understanding Nishinoya’s confusion. “I didn’t try to catch him.”

Nishinoya opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Okay. Can…can I do a quick recap? These guys come into your house trying to shank you, and you try _not_ to get shanked, and in the process some dude accidentally falls off your balcony. And to you that means you… _killed_ him? Just clarifying.”

There was a sudden, muffled sound down the hall, and Nishinoya froze. His head jerked to the side, listening. Asahi’s mouth was open to speak but he paused as well, eyes flicking to the door.

“I thought it would take them longer,” Nishinoya said quietly.

“Do you have a plan?” Asahi asked, almost soundlessly.

Nishinoya’s mouth formed a line. “I sorta thought we’d think of one in here,” he admitted. “But I got excited and forgot.”

Another small noise from down the hall, clearly something moving. Rubble. Asahi wanted to run. He always wanted to run. He didn’t know where he could run to.

Nishinoya stood. “Okay, Mr. Assassin,” he said. Asahi winced. “We’ll talk later. Time to wing it.”

 

* * *

 

Ushijima always entered a room with a purpose, like he was in no hurry. The tech sat at her computer, several large monitors propped up in front of her, and she tensed as his footsteps tapped across the linoleum.

“Afternoon, Ushijima-sama,” she greeted tightly, watching the screens without breaking focus. His footsteps tapped up just behind her chair and then stopped.

“They haven’t moved?” he asked. The tech shook her head.

“Still in the storage room,” she said. Ushijima hummed. “Team 1 funneled 0-5-1-8-8-2 to the target, no problem.”

“Vitals?”

“Steady. A slight spike when he brought down the pool but we’re way below meltdown danger,” the tech replied. She tapped across a couple different camera setups until she found the one in the upper corner of the storage room. “Slight luminescence but it’s probably just afterglow.”

“Good,” Ushijima said. He cleared his throat and then his voice became more commanding. “Team 2 authorized to proceed to the target, Team 1 monitor. Team 2 is to separate them. Team 1 stay covert, terminate Azumane on my order.”

The tech nodded sharply. “Yes sir,” she said, tapping her microphone on and relaying the instructions to the team leaders.

“After termination Team 2 should sedate 0-5-1-8-8-2,” Ushijima said.

To prevent an event. The tech added this to her instructions. Ushijima’s footsteps tapped over to the screens and out of the corner of her eye the tech saw him watching them. His eyebrows rose and he nodded.

“No better deterrent than failure,” he said impassively. The tech hummed in agreement, though she wasn’t really paying attention. “I should have done this with the entire group,” he continued. “A successful escape breeds overconfidence. Ah, well, it would have been a logistical nightmare anyway.”

He turned and started back toward the door. “The rest is up to your discretion,” he said pointedly. The tech smiled to herself.

“Yes, sir,” she barked. Her CO might have laughed but Ushijima was silent. She grimaced and hoped the over-enthusiasm came across sincerely, if the joke didn’t land. It didn’t matter, anyway, because Ushijima left and she tuned into Team 2’s group comm.


End file.
